Harry Potter and the Witch Queen
by TimeLoopedPowerGamer
Summary: Harry never beat Voldemort, only barely managing a stalemate. Years later, Harry falls victim to a Dark ritual that sends him back in time to when he was 11. After Dumbledore discovers Harry's abuse by the Dursleys, things spiral out of control fast. His magical abilities damaged by the trip back, Harry's only hope is the Witch Queen herself, now known merely as Hermione Granger.
1. Chapter 1

**Harry Potter and the Witch Queen**  
by _TimeLoopedPowerGamer_

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter.

**Summary: ** Harry Potter never actually beat Voldemort, but rather fought him to a standstill while Europe burned around them. Finding himself an unwilling part of a dark ritual to send him back in time 20 years, he is surprised to see how Dumbledore reacts to proof of obvious child abuse (Harry's), how 11 year old super-genius and Witch Queen in training Hermione reacts to actually having a socially competent friend (Harry), and how much easier it is to shrug off the insults of munchkins when you're a grizzled war veteran.

But there is one huge problem: being sent back blew out his magic entirely. Just waving his wand knocked him out the first time he tried it. Can Hermione help him though his classes even with his magic almost unusable? Will Harry be able to find the secrets to actually killing the Dark Lord and saving his friends from a horrible future without blowing his cover, or even getting mistaken for the Dark Lord himself? Will Neville Longbottom get better grades than him?

**On Content: **Canon-Harry lives in a dark world. This one is darker, with evil turned up to 11 and actual adult situations: everyone is more magical and dangerous, witches and wizards are preternaturally attractive and seductive, people are meaner, magical creatures are horrifying and have back stories, Harry has worse mental issues, teenagers are hornier, villains actually torture and kill people before the last book, etc. Rated M for Maliciousness.

* * *

**Chapter One**

Harry Potter woke suddenly, coughing up his own blood, his scar burning like an iron brand on his forehead. This wasn't unusual for him; he'd lost count of how many times this _specifically_ had happened, usually while sleeping on the floor of a burned out building or in the cold mud in a ditch in some field. What was unusual was finding himself chained to a large stone block, his wrists and ankles bound to the floor, the chains stretching him naked across the top of the rough granite surface. Yeah, that was it. He almost never woke up naked.

"Good evening, Harry," three soft female voices whispered in his ear at the same time, in slightly different pitches but in tune, a chord in his head. Harry recognized her "voice" immediately: Ginevra Granger was here. With her merely in the same room, he was in mortal danger. Maybe worse. Tied down like this, he was as good as done for already.

Ignoring his bonds, he immediately concentrated for a moment, doing all his Ds for the zillionth time. The jarring sensation made him wince and feel sick to his stomach; of course he was under an Anti-Disapparition Jinx, but he had to check. He heard a flute, a little girl, and an old crone softly chuckle directly in his face.

"Ah, Ginny. All right?" he replied, grimacing and hoping to at least string things out until he could make some kind of plan. Not that anyone was coming to rescue him this time. The Thorn Witch of the Fae Court responded.

"Harry, Harry, I'm always good now. You know why," the West Wind in human voice growled seductively from two feet behind him, which was technically solid rock but whatever, the Voice of the Mouthpiece of the Faeries didn't need to follow physical laws, just burrow directly into the auditory processing centers of his brain.

"Despite everything, it _is_ good to see you again my dear friend Harry. I only wish it wasn't like this," a dozen shocked cats hissed through his feet emotionally, sounding like they genuinely did regret it.

"That makes two of us, Ginny. Is _she_...?" he hesitated to ask.

"_She_ is fine, thank you," snipped his nightmares in human form from somewhere over and behind his head – this time not a fae trick of sound but a normal human voice, just one he dreaded hearing even more than Ginevra's strange Voice. A fine layer of perspiration started to gather on Harry's forehead, his palms felt cold and clammy as he flexed his fingers nervously. His worst foe had him, captured and bound. No, not Voldemort or even Ginny. Old Tommy Boy had savaged the Muggle world like a mad dog but couldn't really touch Harry and though Ginny had sold her everything and her all to the Fae Courts for dread powers beyond mortal keen, she was still a mortal-sized threat in person. This was worse. Way worse.

It was She-of-the-Darkness, Witch Queen of the Isles, Dark Enchantress of the Seven Paths (speak not her name). Well, most smart people didn't speak it, not since she reverse-engineered and mastered the Taboo Curse that Voldemort had used during his first war, casting it on all of England and western Europe, keyed for _her _name. Say it and her minions showed up to ask you why you _dared_ invoke it. You might survive that.

Say it three times real fast and _she_ showed up. _She_ didn't seem to like doing that, but the results of such attempts, as reported by long-range scrying spells or the rare surviving eye-witnesses, were at least educational to the remaining magical community. High-energy magical events were rare enough to make every one a learning experience for those left alive.

It had taken her three weeks originally, and _she_ was reported to have been "disappointed" in how long it took her to work out such a "simple" nation-wide spell effect. Harry had never bent to that rule with Voldemort but _she _was a different story. But since there was no longer reason to care now with _her _here already _– _well why not.

"Hermione Granger, old friend. How long has it been? A year?" he said as firmly and casually as he could, hoping his voice wasn't sounding as nervous as he actually was. He tried his chains carefully, hoping against hope that Voldemort would show up soon or something else unlikely but more fortuitous would happen, anything really. He tried craning his head to look around and precisely locate his captors.

The rest of the large room in front of him was dark and unevenly lit, with candles placed directly around the stone altar he was on, but nothing was clearly visible outside that area. There seemed to be something hanging in the corner on the left side of the room, but he couldn't see anything else, no doors, no windows. Damn. The Thorn Witch and _She_ had him firmly trapped.

"Almost two now, Harry. Be more precise," Hermione said, stepping into view on his right side. She had on the same black formal robes she always seemed to wear now. Her metal-soled boots tapped firmly on the stone floor and echoed off the bare walls of the chamber. The silver circlet, sign of her hard-won fae knowledge and undisputed magical rule of all of the British Isles, sat on her brow and flashed in the candlelight where it held down the wild brown hair that hung almost to her waist. Her hips were wrapped around with a silver chain belt that dangled down in front just past her knees. And her eyes. Her eyes were as they had been since _the bargain_, black pits that seemed to devour light, no longer the cool brown he knew as a child.

Unlike Voldemort, her Dark powers left her rosy-cheeked and fresh looking, seeming even a little tanned though she never saw the sun unless perhaps it was shining into a secret library somewhere in Europe. She had her hands clasped loosely in front of her robes and a soft smile on her relaxed face. The pits of darkest night bored into his eyes, but she didn't even try his Occlumency barriers, which were as weak as always and wouldn't have held for long against her anyway.

That worried him. She wasn't after any secrets he had. Not trying to control his mind or buy his soul. She merely looked down at him while standing beside the stone altar, just at his right hand. It came to him slowly that she was simply going to kill him, no other explanation fit.

The Thorn Witch joined them at that point, red hair flashing, walking completely silently to Hermione's side and wrapping her arms around the young Dark witch's waist. She was wearing her usual (nothing but a glamor) but appeared to mortal eyes to have on a short green plaid skirt and a white button-down shirt with a sloppily arranged crimson tie bearing a Gryffindor lion, loosely knotted at the top. No shoes for some reason, maybe she didn't really care – her mortal form no longer needed them, after all, it being capable of bouncing bullets now. But she also had a large, traditional-looking pointed witch's hat on her head for some damn reason.

Snuggling closer, Ginny finally turned to Harry and grinned a toothy grin. She hadn't actually opened her mouth to speak like a human yet but it was her face that made him look away; as pretty as it still was, Harry could never deal with those eyes – all yellow and slit like a cat's and too much like Voldemort's. It still shook him to see his former friend that way.

"Dearest, shall we move this along?" Hermione said, glancing at Ginny.

"Yes, mistress. I'll get it started now," Ginny said to his left ear, broadcasting her fae Voice to both Harry and Hermione as a polite gesture to the captive young man. Ginny then bowed to her wife Hermione with arms still wrapped around the Dark witch (not an easy feat but still graceful), cat-eyes downcast and submissive.

It was some kind of act, he know; even now, Ginny was as much like Bellatrix as she was like a pudding, but the similarity of their positions in serving as right-hand to a Dark and powerful person was obviously something Ginny was playing on. She was still grinning as she bowed and ignored Hermione glares at her odd teasing. Ginny then quickly disengaged and skipped over to the base of the altar while glancing at the left-hand corner of the room. Something still lurked in the dark there and it bothered Harry. Hermione rolled her eyes at Ginny (or at least shook her head and smirked – one can't roll Stygian pits of darkest night very effectively) and returned her focus to Harry.

"This next part will hurt more than the rest, Harry," _she_ said. "I hope you understand why I've chosen this path once we're done. Let me know if you have any specific questions. Otherwise, we'll just move things along and complete this project as quickly as possible."

The more _she_ talked, the more worried Harry got. He tried the chain again, not caring if they clanked or if he was obvious about it, trying a few silent summoning charms with his slightly more hidden left hand under the cover of his struggling.

"Accio wand!" he thought silently, screwing up his face, attempting the wandless, wordless casting. He knew he could do it, normally, but nothing this time – surprise surprise. "Accio blade! Accio gun!" he continued, with no results. "Accio key!" he tried, on the off chance someone had been really, criminally stupid securing his chains. Either nothing named was outside anti-summoning charms or the altar or chains were somehow blocking his magic.

Hermione watched him struggle, still smiling quietly and not at all distracted from what he was really trying to do. She could of course tell he was trying to cast but apparently just didn't care.

Ginny was grabbing some candles from the base of the altar, lighting them wandlessly and floating them around her head. Noticing his gaze, Hermione commented, talking to Harry in her best lecture voice, "Yes, physical candles not summoned lights. There will be some heavy magical backlash here and we don't want them being dispelled in the middle of everything."

Now wearing a wreath of lights around her head, Ginny pointed at the darkest corner and all of the candles followed her wandless directions, taking up positions on the ground illuminating the area. Harry's heart seemed to stop.

"Luna Potter, wakey wakey," Ginny chortled like a cold mountain stream from the ceiling, again broadcasting. She poked Luna with a finger, casting a wandless, wordless revival spell at the bound woman.

Harry's wife Luna was hanging upside down from an inverted cross, feet tied to the main post and hands tied to both sides of the bottom crossbar. Her robes were tied along with her limbs, making it look a little neater and saving some of her dignity. Luna's long blond hair was also tied up and pinned to the back of her robe to keep it out of the large basin directly under her head. This was, for Harry, the worst thing he'd ever had to witness, worse even than seeing Voldemort resurrected in front of him, especially considering Hermione's specialty of fae blood magic.

He lunged forward, rattling his chains and trying to break free with sheer brute force. He was screaming something unintelligible, something even he couldn't understand, but he didn't care.

"Yes, Harry," Hermione replied to what he assume was an unspoken question, "she was hiding in Norway but I found her eventually. The Fidelius Charm doesn't fully work against elves, house or otherwise. Not sure if you knew that."

"What the hell are you doing?" Harry growled, still straining at the chains.

"It is really quite a simple ritual. Almost all the parts were already set up by Voldemort. A soul link, a connection across time and space, a magical core directly associated to the soul link at both ends. And," she finished, still horribly calm, "the blood of a True Seer, taken at her self-prophesied death. True time travel. At least for one target soul."

"No!" he screamed. "You can't do this!"

"I really can. Everything is ready and it is the only way to get them back, you know. All of them."

Hermione gently placed her hand on Harry's, which was still straining against the bindings.

"True, it might only send you into an alternate time-line or a parallel world working on slower relative time that syncs up to ours 20 years ago or some such temporal nonsense, but the chance that it will be our time-line, that it will correct _our _mistakes...it is too good a chance not to at least try."

"And in any case, Harry," she stated, leaning toward him, "it will still give _you_ another chance, even if we are left with nothing but corpses and questions, even if for me and my beloved nothing changes. You'll have a chance to be free and happy again. Of this I am sure. And Luna will die today you know – she is the real thing and has foretold it. This is your only chance to save her, however convoluted a situation you end up in. More like a second chance for both of you, really, than...what was it Dumbledore called it? The next great adventure?"

The insanely powerful witch (emphasis on _insane_) patted his hand one more time before calmly drawing a knife from her sleeve. Slumping to the cold stone again, Harry stared at her in disbelief.

"No, wait, Hermione, we went over that years ago – it doesn't work, time travel is impossible. We searched everywhere, even the Darkest archives at Durmstrang said it was impossible. You sacrificed a dozen people during that one attempt with the super-sized time turners, and it still didn't work!"

"Minor setbacks," she said, dismissing his argument casually.

"Look, they're gone. You have to focus on what's in front of us: Voldemort and his Death Eaters. You can't bring back Ne-" Harry bit his tongue and avoided the only truly unspeakable name, "you can't bring our classmates back. The Weasleys, your parents, Dumbledore: they're gone. God, I'd do anything to get them back but killing the two of us won't help!"

The Darkest witch since Morgan (possible Darker) sadly shook her head at him. "No, I've done the calculations and worked out all the underlying techniques. I even sent the soul of a rat back with a drop of blood from a lesser seer, still alive of course. I know the system worked, but I couldn't come up with a paradox-free test. I'm sure it doesn't form closed causal systems, though, so you, lying there right now, were definitely _not_ sent back in time and are not looping right now. No need to get into the Arithmancy, but it is impossible for the magic to work that way in this universe. It was strange, making all those tiny twin-wands and scarring the souls of rats into other rats." She paused, briefly pondering her demented experiments.

"Wonder if that's how Voldemort feels all the time about you? Just a rat from a failed experiment? Anyway," the madwoman said, somehow regaining focus, "it will take all of your core's power and a great deal of mine and Ginny's, but it will work. You'll end up in your body back when you were 11 years old, the first time you ever touched your Phoenix wand, the one paired with Voldemort's." Dark robes swirling, Hermione turned and walked toward where Luna hung. "You'll be able to stop everything, save everyone. I know you will, even if you don't approve of my methods you'll still do it Harry."

He was shaking his head, unable to think clearly about the extent of the wrongness of what was happening. "Please don't do this, this is wrong, it won't work," he babbled, trying to figure out how to convince her not to kill his wife for this insane scheme. Ginny was standing in front of where Luna hung, waiting for Hermione to continue the ritual. His wife seemed to be coming around finally.

"Oh, hello Ginny, Hermione. How are you? Funny meeting you here," Luna said, somehow still looking distant and dreamy even upside down and about to be sacrificed.

"You see, Harry," his good-old mad, bushy-haired friend said, "she already knows what's going to happen. She foretold it a month ago. I found her after she gave her Prophecy in front of a group of confused Norwegian miners in a bar in a lonely town high in the mountains. My name was mentioned and I was able to track down one of the Muggles and read his mind. Quite a bombshell of a tale but death-tellings usually are. I think one of the men was actually driven insane just from hearing it. Well done, Luna."

"Thank you, 'mione, you know exactly how much that means to me," she replied calmly, looking intently at Hermione's left forelock for some reason.

"The best part," the darkest witch continued, "is she predicted my success too, not just her death. Didn't say which flavor of time travel for the result, but that is why Divination isn't a science, just a strange mutation of magical ability and a bit of skilled interpretation. When done well, that is, not like that disastrous bitch at Hogwarts."

Hermione took the last few steps up to Luna. Her brown hair shook as she glanced over her shoulder at him, griping the silver knife with more purpose. Ginny looked on with a grin, watching her wife and Dark mistress wield the sacrificial blade attentively but with no apparent emotional reaction, just her happiness to be there with Hermione that she always had now and would for all eternity. She patted Luna's upside-down leg with one hand then drew both her and Harry's wands from thin air, holding them casually at her side.

"Almost done now babe," Ginny echoed, the sound of a soothing night breeze broadcasting inside Harry's skull, the message for Luna this time but still shared with the room.

"Might want to close your eyes for this part, dearest Harry," Hermione said quietly, looking into his eyes with the midnight holes in her face, "Don't worry, there will be no pain for her. Luna's all numbed-up, like for a medical procedure. Muggle drugs don't interfere with the magic. The least I can do for a couple of my last and oldest friends. This will take only a few minutes."

As the Dark witch turned, Luna finally seemed to start paying attention. Staring into Hermione's face where her eyes once were, locking her gaze to the madwoman's, Luna seemed relaxed but more focused than Harry had ever seen her. Neither woman looked away as the knife came up.

"See you in a bit, Harry," his love, the greatest Seer of a Century, promised in a soft whisper, still not looking away from the black pits that were now her friend's eyes.

* * *

An infinite darkness cleared in a thousandth of a heartbeat, returning Harry to pain and light.

The wand burned his hand, a red-hot fire that scorched his flesh to the bone. He screamed a strange high-pitched screech and dropped it, collapsing to the ground and curling his entire body around what surely must be the smoking remains of his hand. He heard something drop to the floor and rushing footsteps, then someone bent over him.

"Goodness! Young man, are you quite all right?" said a curious old voice above him.

Slowly unclenching his everything, Harry opened his eyes and saw Ollivander staring down at him. Looking around, he realized he was in the man's wand shop, lying on the ground, cradling his entirely unhurt right hand. And he was _tiny_. Like, little boy tiny. His hands were impossibly small. He scrambled and got himself slightly more upright, still favoring his unwounded right hand, turning it over and over, still expecting to see charred bone instead of unmarked pale pink flesh.

His wand was still rolling slowly across the floor toward the counter. Ollivander poked it carefully with his finger before picking it up.

"Well well, you seem fine and so is the wand. Such a reaction, I must say, _most_ unusual," the old man said to no one specifically.

Harry was helped shakily to his feet by the old shopkeeper, leaning on him more than he'd like to admit. "Where is my sexy, battle-hardened body?" Harry wondered, back propped against the counter, trying to gather his thoughts. Then it hit him: _she_ had been right. It had worked. He was back.

"Let me see, let me see. Here is your wand, lad," Ollivander said, handing it to Harry who, for some reason, grabbed it without thinking.

"Go ahead, try that again. Shouldn't happen like that, no, shouldn't happen at all. Need to make sure, though," the old man said, almost to himself.

Harry winced and held the wand gingerly between two fingers and gave it only the slightest wave. The lights dimmed and a glow seemed to come from the wand again, followed by a rush of magic and some sparks – maybe a little less than he'd remembered from his first time 20 years ago which was somehow also today, but still it was obviously his wand.

"Hmm, no, yes, I was right the first time. Strange, the wand chooses the Wizard and tha-" the old man started, then Harry threw up all over his shop floor.

Stomach burning, Harry doubled over and continued to heave up his pathetic breakfast of dry toast and water all over the stone floor, his wand still gripped in his hand and kept there through long-honed battle reflexes from wars apparently yet to come.

Ollivander simply looked at him in shock. The door to the shop banged open and a huge man stared down at Harry open-mouthed, the birdcage and snowy white owl in his hand momentarily forgotten.

"Hagrid," Harry managed to groan out, before falling into the spreading pool of his own vomit, sinking into darkness once again.

* * *

"One of these days," Harry thought, "I'll wake up well rested, only a little sore in just the right way, in my own bed, beside a hot blond (first, best, and really only choice: Luna), who was crazy in the sack last night (Luna was a little crazy anywhere, but especially there)."

Today was not that day. Taking a gasping breath, he had an instant sense of déjà vu. This was the way he always woke up in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. It even smelled like the Hogwarts hospital wing.

He had a strange and intense burning sensation in an odd part of his body (his stomach, this time). And the bed...yes, the bed was just that special lumpy kind only Hogwarts seemed to use for their injured students (maybe to prevent slacking-off), check. Sheets like sandpaper, check. Harry opened an eye.

Ugly curtains, check. And Madam Pomfrey, just coming around to have a look at him, check. It was strangely good to be back. And for Pomfrey to be alive again. He almost wept, but he had tears in his eyes already from the pain and an exam to look forward to from his least-favorite doctor in the world (except for all the others).

"Mr. Potter, this is not the way I like to meet new students," she said, looking sternly at him. He scrambled for his glasses at their usual place on the bedside table.

"Sorry Mada-, err mam," he stammered, almost slipping up and naming someone ickle baby Harry couldn't _possibly_ know. Bollocks, this was going to get hard really fast. "Wish Hermione was here so she could-" he started to think sadly, for the millionth time. He nipped that line of thought in the bud as usual. No time, live for the now, now. He wished Hogwarts had had an acting program – his Muggle school certainly hadn't, even if he would have been allowed. His mind was strangely drifty right now.

"Never mind that," she said, "tell me what happened. Hagrid and Ollivander already told me what they saw. Did you have an upset stomach this morning?"

"Well, err mam," he started again, trying desperately for a name so he wouldn't slip up later.

"I am Madam Pomfrey, I run the hospital wing here at Hogwarts," she interrupted sternly.

"Oh, uh, what? Umm, Madam Pomfrey, why am I already at Hogwarts? I thought I wasn't to leave for another month?" he asked, hoping that would make sense for him to wonder about. "Argh," he thought, "I can't remember anything about how I felt or thought when I was 11!"

"Well Mr. Potter, Hagrid was worried about you, thought it might be something magical wrong with you. You were shopping for a wand at the time."

"Oh. I see. Well," Harry started, trying to figure out what to say.

"Will she find out what happened?" he thought quickly. "Do I want her to? What's the penalty for time traveling without Ministry approval, instant wand snapping?" His thoughts raced and burbled out of control. Best forget that and focus on getting somewhere quiet to think.

"Maybe she somehow _won't_ notice anything magically strange about a boy who's now 11 years old instead of 31, was just the focus of an impossibly powerful and Dark ritual _in the future_, and also, unfortunately, afflicted with a chronic and terminal case of being Harry Potter," he thought, mentally babbling. "Assuming all that works out, maybe she won't actually end up throwing me in St. Mungo's for the rest of my life for excessive magical naughtiness and being a horrible patient," he silently but valiantly hoped.

"Err," he began, "I was holding this wand and suddenly I didn't feel very good. I dropped it and fell down on the floor. After a bit I started feeling better so I got up again but then I felt even sicker and...uhh...threw up in the shop. I guess I fainted, too." He hung his head a bit and said more quietly, trusting his non-existent acting skills to pull him through, "I hope Mr. Ollivander isn't mad about that. Maybe he won't sell me a wand now."

"That...was horrible," Harry thought, his inner-critic aghast at his performance.

"Oh, there there, don't worry," she said, actually buying it, the sap. "Hagrid picked up your new wand for you, all bought and paid for. I've got it stored in that end table right there." She pointed at the low drawer next to his bed. He looked at it hopefully.

"But!" she said sharply, grabbing his attention with a firm wag of her finger and almost making him pee himself in surprise, "You aren't to try waving it around or anything! Wait until classes start next month. It isn't legal for little kids to do magic outside of school, you know." She looked even more sternly at him, like it was all his fault and one big prank, him getting blasted through time, vomiting all over an ancient magic shop, and ending up in one of her hospital beds – and something he was likely to try again the moment she turned her back on him.

"Well, it seems like you just had a touch of a stomach bug," she said kindly, worryingly changing demeanor on him. "Yes, umm, nothing to worry about. Drink this," she said, shoving a vile smelling potion into his hands, "and we'll get you right...back home...uh, immediately." She seemed a little distant and distracted for some reason.

With practiced speed he gulped down the smelly and strangely powerful healing brew (why one of the big, smelly ones – he hadn't been run through with a sword or anything, this time). Harry handed the empty back to Poppy, which she immediately replaced with another, different, equally vile one. Repeating that process three times, she finally gathered everything up and made to leave.

"Mam, how long was I asleep?" he said, "I don't want my...relatives to worry." She blanched at that, face twitching in an unrecognizable emotion.

"Nothing to fear, child," she said strangely softly, "it was less than an hour and a half. Hagrid is just out in the hall talking to the Headmaster and he'll, he'll take you straight back home now that you've got everything worked out. You just stay there for a few more minutes until Hagrid returns." She started away from Harry's bed, then suddenly stopped and turned, smiling at Harry, "Oh, and I think he's got a gift for you, so be on your best behavior now."

Harry was a little worried. This was all very, very different from the first time. And there was something wrong with Pomfrey. She didn't smile like that at you unless something was really wrong and she was trying to reassure you that you weren't going to be like that forever. Not right for just a stomach bug.

Gathering his things, including his wand, he put his shirt back on quickly. He'd forgotten how skinny and cold he was all the time at this age. Idiot Dursleys were hardly feeding him but at least the extra fabric on his hand-me-downs kept him moderately warm. Didn't feel right being in Hogwarts without a robe, though.

He spent some time just looking around at the large room he had, err, would, err, will, shit whatever; the room he'd experienced far, far too much time in, in whatever temporal direction. Almost a home away from home at Hogwarts, really. Maybe he'd lead with his face less this time around. His middle still burned strangely and it took a lot for him not to wince at it, but he'd have to pretend everything was fine or they'd surely keep him overnight, at least. Hopefully he wasn't going to explode or keel over and die or anything, but he couldn't risk Pomfrey finding something magically strange about him.

He was spacing out so bad that he actually jumped when the recovery room door quietly swung open and Albus Fucking Dumbledore himself strode in. Harry's brain went into Instant Panic Mode.

Did Harry know who Dumbledore was at this point? If not, when? Wait, no, Hagrid had mentioned his name, right? So, could 11 year old Harry have _assumed_? But he didn't know what he looked like until the moving trading card...but no wait FUCK Dumbledore could read minds, right? Was he? Oh god, Harry was staring right into his twinkling eyes! What was Harry's Occlumency like right_ now_? Shit he hadn't even checked his barriers! Oh thank god there, right there, they were still in place and unmolested. Maybe tone them down a bit, though, in case he checked. Just make it look like a very good amateur or a natural talent. Suspicious magical incidents and links to a not-so-dead Dark Lord's not-really-death aside, Albus wasn't going to try and mindrape him right here in the hospital, now was he?

Was he?

Thoughts naturally cleared as Harry smiled a nervous little smile on the outside and set yellow-alert inside his head (Star Trek reruns with Hermione and Ron instantly came to mind and were shut down just a quickly). The headmaster gave him a casually reassuring smile in return and walked over to Harry's bed with Hagrid in tow.

He'd forgotten just how quietly powerful Dumbledore was, the magic that _poured_ off of him. Even thinking that anything bad could happen with him watching seemed silly. How messed up must he have been the first time around not to see it? The man practically had a magical _aura_ around him. Hell, maybe he did. Harry had been so inexperienced when Albus had died, never had a chance to ask him how real wizards, powerful ones, organized their abilities, how they spent their days. Maybe he'd have that chance now.

But something was wrong. Hagrid was looking unhappy, fiddling with the cuffs on his giant coat nervously. And Albus looked a little _off_, tense somehow. Then it hit Harry: Albus was seriously, burningly, building-levelingly, reality-breakingly mad. Harry's heart missed a beat. No, wait, not at him. Holyshit, Albus wasn't mad at him thank god. Someone or something else, god help them or it.

"What could it be, though," Harry hurriedly thought. "Did I interrupt something important, get someone hurt? Was a member of the Order killed today? Don't remember any problems at this point that would make him so mad."

Conjuring a chair with a simple but abrupt wave of his wand, the Headmaster sat down next to Harry where he was still perched on the hospital bed (not daring to move until Pomfrey said he could). Hagrid strangely seemed to stall partway to Harry, fidgeting at the foot of his bed and not making eye contact with anyone, not at all the bubbling man he'd met this morning, 20 years ago.

"Hello Harry Potter," the wise, kindly old man said, "I am Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster here at Hogwarts. You may call me Professor Dumbledore or Headmaster or just Professor. If you don't care for any of those, there are some who call me...Tim."

There was a brief moment of quiet in his head, then Harry entirely lost his mind. "Did Dumbledore just make a Muggle joke? What the hell was that? He'd never said that before! Did I break the greatest wizard in the world, traveling through time like that?" Harry quietly gibbered in a corner of his brain safely not controlling his face or speech. The rest of his brain would just have to man the fuck up on its own.

Not showing any fear or reaction was key, yes. Maybe look a little worried, but not scared. Dumbledore had to be trying to reassure him.

"Uh, nice to meet you, Headmaster. Sorry about all the trouble," Harry said, almost automatically, his mind a shattered shell.

Albus twinkled at him most strangely, still not testing his mental shields other that oratorically. "No problem at all, Mr. Potter. We were all just a little worried you might have had some reaction to the magic in Mr. Ollivander's shop. Madam Pomfrey has reassured me that didn't happen. Now, did you have any questions before we...escort you back home?"

Harry thought at lightning speed but ended up just shaking his head.

"Well then, I'll be joining you and Hagrid on your return trip. Just need to let your...guardians know what happened and see if they have any questions about the upcoming school year."

To Harry's horror, Dumbledore stood up (the chair disappearing) and gestured for Harry to follow him. Hagrid silently shuffled along behind them. "This didn't happened at all the first time through," Harry thought, brain a smoking ruin. "Am I changing things this much already?" Illumination escaped him for now, so he had to be satisfied merely escaping from the hospital wing with what seemed like minor damage to the Supreme Mugwump's temporal health and mental well-being.

Dumbledore lead them to what Harry suddenly realized was the DADA professor's office (currently unoccupied by Quirrell, thank god). Grabbing a bowl of what Harry now knew was floo powder, he turned to him and said, "Mr. Potter, we need to get you back to your Aunt and Uncle's house as quickly as is reasonably possible. To that end, we will use the Floo Network, a series of connections between authorized fireplaces in the wizarding world which quickly transport users from one point to another with the use of a target location phrase. Please note, Harry, that such connections are not always allowed at Hogwarts and transportation is usually turned off in the castle for safety reasons." Harry acted naturally for an 11 year old by staring dumbly at that explanation.

"Now," Dumbledore continued, "this time, we will be traveling to Diagon Alley, note the pronunciation carefully, and from there Apparating to...your house. Apparating from Hogwarts is not possible and is blocked by very strong wards, again for security reasons. There are reasons for this route, also related to security."

He stood there, looking into Harry's eyes. Trying to find something, maybe, Harry didn't know what, but not searching behind his mental shields.

"Why is Dumbledore explaining all this to me?" Harry wondered. "It is like he wants me to feel safe about the process or maybe about him for some reason. Not doing anything he doesn't explain ahead of time: it was like how a doctor might act around a scared kid." Harry considered this, increasingly confused by the whole situation.

"First step now, Harry. Take some powder and say 'Diagon Alley' clearly, then step into the green flames. I will demonstrate."

After disappearing in a puff of flames, Hagrid finally spoke up, "Doncha worry 'arry, 'ets really easy. Jus'...jus' say 'et real clear an loud, like the Headmaster did. Yer'll be fine." He seemed a little shaky for some reason, his mouth working behind his huge beard. This was something disconcerting from such a large man, but he held out the bowl to Harry and quietly waited, so Harry again just kept moving forward.

Determined not to screw up his first Floo trip this time, Harry concentrated more than he had in years on the simple act. Maybe that would help his cover, maybe everyone was that bad the first time; he just didn't want to screw it up and get eaten by a grue in Knockturn Alley. He went flying out of the (correct) destination fireplace like he'd been shot out of a gun. 5/5 for destination, 0/5 for style.

Harry was caught on the other end by Dumbledore, who quickly got him out of the way before Hagrid followed. Harry barely got a look around the Leaky Cauldron before they left again. This time Hagrid left first, touching what Harry recognized as a portkey, and then the Headmaster side-alonged with Harry in tow. They appeared in a dark corner just down the block from their destination, which they quickly approached. It was late afternoon now and they were very, very conspicuous, giant and robed wizard. Harry wasn't much better, but mostly because he was wobbling more than usual and wearing clothes obvious too large for him. He still didn't feel well.

Seeing his, no, _the Dursleys' _house after so long made him feel ill in a different way than his burning stomach. He hated this place so much more now than even when he was 11. He was just a kid back then, didn't know anything else. Didn't know how _wrong _his situation had been. If he wasn't careful, he'd burn it down with accidental magic the second he set foot inside. He wasn't feeling very careful at the moment.

As if sensing his thoughts (nope, mental shields still up), Dumbledore gently placed his hand on Harry's shoulder and started him towards the much-cursed house. Glancing over at Dumbledore, he now appeared to be wearing a floral hat, sandals with (ugh) socks, tan pants, and...a Hawaiian-print sport coat? Hagrid was already wearing his jacket and no robe, so he at least sort of looked like a Muggle.

Before they even reached it, the door jerked open suddenly, Vernon glaring out at them. Harry could see a table in the entryway had a very pissed-off looking Hedwig (no wait, he hadn't named her yet, details!), still in her cage. Vernon was livid, almost stomping in place with anger.

"Where the bloody hell have you been, boy!" his uncle started in, "Keeping all kinds of odd hours, _unnatural _people coming and going with all kinds of wildlife! We left the hotel hours ago and just got back, now get in here and help Dudley unpack! We just left your old stuff at the lost and found, so don't bother looking for it."

"You lot can just get lost now, move along," he said in the general direction of the wizards in front of him, trying to grab Harry and hustle him inside before there was even more of a scene.

Harry didn't much care if he never saw those second-hand clothes again, but this was way over the top, much worse than last time. At least Dumbledore was with him now. Maybe the beatings wouldn't start until the wizards were long gone and Harry had a chance to work out whether he could get away with gutting the fat, abusive asshole with a fish boning knife. Just then, the Headmaster spoke up.

"Mr. Dursley, there are some...school matters we need to discuss first. I am afraid I can not leave until we do so, school health and safety requires it."

The fat idiot suddenly let go of Harry like he was a diseased rat, looking frightened and disgusted at the same time. The Headmaster took the chance to push Harry gently through the door to clear the way, leaving Hagrid behind them on the stoop.

Vernon started spluttering but Dumbledore ignored it, directing Harry to the stairs. "I hope you feel better soon, Harry. I'll talk to your Uncle about what happened today but you should go up to your room now and get some rest," he said, eyes sparkling kindly at the boy. Harry's trunk was rapidly levitated up the stairs and stowed in his room, care of Dumbledore's wand. Harry soon followed and was surprised when the door to the upstairs room was magically shut behind him and some other spell (not a locking one, silencing?) was cast on it.

Not sure what was going on, Harry simply started sorting through his trunk, looking at books he'd long forgotten about, trying to mentally catch his breath and work out what the hell was going on, why Dumbledore was at his house, and what the fuck he was going to do now.

* * *

Albus turned to Hagrid, who was still awkwardly standing outside the small Muggle house door, looking down at his hands. The groundskeeper was gripping his hands together so hard his knuckles were turning white.

"Hagrid, thank you for escorting me here today," Albus said. "You may return to Hogwarts now if you wish. I'll be speaking with the Dursleys about Harry for a while – wouldn't want them to misunderstand what happened today, so I'll tell them everything they need to know." He waited, looking significantly at Hagrid over his glasses. The gigantic man pursed his lips and nodded once, jerkily.

"Yes, Headmaster. I understand," he said sadly, turning to leave.

Looking at the fat, awful man in front of him and the weak chinned woman hiding just around the kitchen door, Albus despaired. Seeming to reach an internal decision at last, he straightened his shoulders. Harry was upstairs, safely away from what must be done, his room silenced. Albus suddenly closed their front door without touching it, the loud bang interrupting the red-faced man's impending rant.

"Mr. Dursley, we need to speak in your sitting room. Now," he told the wretched man.

"I'll do no such thing you fre-" Vernon started before Albus' hand made a tiny little wave at the odious blob, casting a spell that left him fluttering his lips silently like a fish.

"Mr. Dursley, Vernon: may I call you Vernon?" Albus started, not waiting for an answer, "Vernon, your chairs in the sitting room, now, or I'll create my own right here. _Magically_," he emphasized carefully, a wand suddenly appearing in his hand. The lights in the hall dimmed and the twisted wood of the arcane instrument shimmered with barely constrained power.

Following the scampering fat man into his spotless sitting room, Albus took the nicest chair (most likely Vernon's) and waited, his wand held casually in his hand and not _quite_ pointing at the whale of a man, for the oaf to stop gulping and find his own seat. A wave removed the silencing spell from Vernon.

"Petunia, you might as well join us," he said to the door, opening it with a wave. The woman, caught eavesdropping behind the door, walked slowly over to the couch were Vernon was sitting and seemed to fold in half like a broken doll, collapsing into the seat.

"Here is the situation as it stands," Albus started before Vernon got his mental balance back. "I know what has happened to young Harry. I have personally seen the evidence, talked to a medical professional about it, and heard her conclusions. This reality is not open to discussion. If these facts were to be published in my people's newspapers, your house would not be standing tomorrow." The pathetic Muggles were now pale like ghosts.

"I thought that was something you should know," Albus said, twinkles _entirely _absent from his eyes. "Also, I now have a way to watch Harry's health and well being 24 hours a day, down to the least little hunger pang or the smallest bruise. I will be using it, every hour of every day, for however long he is in your house."

He took a large, old fashioned pocket watch from his robe, popping it open to display the complicated face and briefly presented it to the Dursleys.

"This shows me Harry's location and state of health," he said. "If it reads anything but 'Perfect' and 'At the Dursley House' for the next month before school, you will receive a visit from one of my staff. They will interview Harry and ascertain why it reads otherwise, then they will take whatever measures are required to ensure it doesn't happen again."

Albus then leaned forward and repeated, clear and loud so they wouldn't miss it, "_Whatever_ measures are required."

"In addition," Albus said, leaning back again, apparently relaxed, "you will follow all of these health and dietary care instructions from his doctor at Hogwarts to the letter. That includes limitations on chores he is allowed to do and meal plans." A piece of parchment magically appeared in his hand, which he placed on the extremely normal looking coffee table in from of him.

"The same warnings apply, and I will be _personally_ investigating if he does not appear to have been cared for correctly on his _prompt_ arrival at Hogwarts as specified here," he said, as another parchment appeared from nowhere and was added the other on the table. "The Hogwarts train timetable is clearly listed, as are the instructions for how to get onto platform 9 ¾. No excuses will be heard."

Sitting back and looking at his watch, he declared, "The device currently shows 'Stomach Ache'. That requires some explanation. Today while shopping, Harry came down with a bad stomach ache and passed out briefly. We took him to a doctor at my school who gave him some potions to fix him up, but he was not seriously ill. To treat this, you will give him some soup and, if required, Muggle medicine. If he gets worse, take him to one of your Muggle doctors and get him looked at. I will know if and when this happens. If he isn't better by the end of the week, you _will_ receive a visit from me."

"I-I don't understand, we've given the brat everything he needs, even when it meant less for our little Dudders! The little turd has been nothing but disrespectful to us – so ungrateful!" Petunia finally spoke up.

"You will remember our agreement," Albus said in a monotone. Both of the Dursleys immediately turned pale as ghosts and sat completely still, wide eyed in shock. Continuing as if nothing had happened, Albus said, "If I have to remove Harry from this house, I will be very disappointed and you will have broken your word. That would not go well for your family. Enemies of the Potters still hunt for him and his family, and you, as Muggles, would be immediate targets."

Sighing, Dumbledore put away the watch and stared sadly at the last, rotten remnants of Harry Potter's family. "Know that I can not protect you from them without the boy being present under this roof," he said quietly, "but also, I can not protect _you _from the boy himself. You would do well to remember that."

Pushing himself slowly to his feet, Albus silently padded over to the doorway to the hall, surprising the rotund Dudley who had been standing there eavesdropping. "That goes for you as well," Albus said quietly, expressionlessly spearing the boy with his now baleful twinkling eyes.

"Even the weakest wizards hold great power at their command. But mark my words," he said as he turned to the still stunned Dursleys on the couch, "Harry Potter will grow to be a powerful wizard indeed. Some of the strange events you've seen around him are proof of this. Those were incidents of what we call accidental magic, power that sometimes bursts forth from a young witch or wizard. It is poorly directly and ill formed – most of the time. But even this unfocused magic can reduce a full-grown Muggle to a mindless state or a building to a pile of ash on the ground.

"Know that, in our world, there is no punishment dealt out for such inadvertent use of magic by a minor, merely an attempt to clean up afterword; also, the use of magic in self defense is virtually always upheld as justified, even – no, _especially,_ against Muggles. Now imagine, if you will, what a full-grown wizard could do if he hated you and wanted you to suffer as Harry has. Be glad the young man as of yet holds no serious animosity towards you. The moment hate truly touches his heart, all your lives are in danger. For your sake and the sake of this world, I hope that day never comes."

Raising his fell wand, the old wizard pointed it directly at Dudley, who promptly wet himself where he stood. The woman on the couch let out a muffled cry as a the ancient wizard made a small wave of his wand and removed the boy's pigtail, cleaning up once again after one of his grounds keeper's minor mistakes. Not sparing another glace at them, Albus Dumbledore left the trembling Muggles behind as he moved into the hall. Gently picking up the birdcage holding Hagrid's present for Harry he quietly mounted the stairs, towards where his watch was saying Harry's room was located.

* * *

Harry was sitting quietly by himself reading, perched on the bed he remembered from so long ago. He remembered how his Uncle had panicked when it appeared the letters were being sent to his cupboard (what would the neighbors think) and had given him Dudley's _second_ bedroom, the one full of broken toys and a closet full of the fat boy's old clothes. That hadn't changed, it seemed.

One of the possibilities in that horrible last lecture of Hermione's (punctuated by blood, dripping, dripping) was that Harry would end up somewhere with a radically different past, a parallel world with possibly a different history and rules and even people. Checking a history book first thing was one of her preternaturally calm suggestions as she waited for Harry's wife to slowly bleed to death in front of them. That sort of thing focuses the mind, Harry found, really helps you remember the course material.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry closed the book, having just finished skimming _"History of Magic_" for major changes. He'd still have to read it again in-depth to make sure (he'd basically skimmed the index at this point) and get a copy of "_Hogwarts, A History"_ (Hermione always wanted him to read that, might as well this time), but history wasn't really his best topic so he might only notice if there was now a Dumbledore House at Hogwarts or maybe if Slughorn had been Minister of Magic for the last 20 years or something. His mom and dad were still dead, obviously, so the most important change (one he'd secretly hoped for before the end, her still-warm blood smeared on his naked body) wasn't present.

Opening up_ History of Magic_ again, he started reading from back (most recent) to front, taking note of even minor events and reading more carefully this time. He was still reading when there was a knock at his door. He almost didn't recognize it, as no one ever knocked when he'd lived with the Dursleys. "Come in," he said in his new, tiny-little-boy voice. Wow, that would take some getting used to.

In walked Dumbledore, greatest wizard of this and quite a few other ages, who still looked sort of pissed. He was carrying a birdcage, which he seemed to make a conscious effort to put down carefully on a nearby table. Hedwig (it really was the same owl, he noticed) seemed a little put-out, but wasn't making much of a fuss yet. Thinking about his old friend (his first friend, really) started opening up old wounds that Harry didn't have the time to think about, so he brutally shut down those feelings and prepared for the worst from his old teacher.

Harry had seldom seen the old man so wound-up and had no idea what he had done it this time. The Headmaster sat on a chair that popped into existence the moment he started to sit down. The ancient wizard didn't seem to notice. He seemed a lot more tired than Harry remembered, at least before that last year when he'd been dying from that curse. It really worried Harry to see him like this.

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, "I've spoken to your Uncle and Aunt. Some things will be changing for you. Madam Pomfrey, the, ah, doctor you saw earlier, believes you need to follow some specific care guidelines to regain your health and strength, guidelines which your guardians have been given with exact instructions on how to follow. This is a copy of those guidelines, along with instructions on how to get to Hogwarts next month. Some of this information was included in your letter, a copy of which is also here. Your guardians will take care of both your doctor's orders and your travel to the train station next month. Do you have any questions, Harry?"

He handed Harry a small stack of parchment. Harry took it with hands that seemed numb. This was. Totally. New. "What the hell happened?" Harry wondered, yet again, his too-small hands beginning to shake. For a hundred galleons, Harry couldn't have come up with a response to this. He stared at the papers in his hands and slowly shook his head no.

Visibly pulling himself together and (as Harry knew from long Dumbledore-exposure in the future) forcing a gentle smile onto his face, the old man gestured to the birdcage which Harry was just now consciously registering again. "This lovely owl is a Birthday present from Hagrid and is one of the pets you are allowed at Hogwarts. Take good care of her; the instructions for such are in the packet taped to the cage."

Thinking Dumbledore would think him rude as well as stupid and mute, a horrible first impression this time around, Harry scrambled for something to say. Looking down at the books on his bed and then up to one of his first friends, one of those he'd lost so long ago, he realized a pattern, something to bring control back to this already-messed up situation.

"S-she's lovely, Sir," Harry managed to babble, searching for the right words and almost forgetting he didn't know the gender of his "new" pet. "I-I was reading some of this history book here and I, I think I'll call her Hedwig. I liked the sound of that name, I think. C-could you thank Hagrid for me, please? I'll likely not get a chance to see him for another month."

"There," Harry thought, "that sounded more like an intelligent 11 year old, or at least maybe Goyle."

The old wizard seemed to relax a bit, a genuine if small smile seeming to return to his face. "I certainly will, Mr. Potter," he said. "And if you like, you can ask Hedwig to send him a letter, thanking him personally. There should be a quill and parchment in your school supplies and, as long as you don't over do it, you shouldn't run out of parchment writing a few letters. Just follow the instructions in that packet and Hedwig will take it straight to him. We are looking forward to seeing you next month at Hogwarts. Happy Birthday, Mr. Potter."

Giving an almost inaudible sigh, Dumbledore stood up again (chair disappearing) and headed for the door. Just as he was about to open it and leave, he turned back and said, "Mr. Potter, if for whatever reason you wish to write to me, any reason at all, send me a message by owl addressed to Headmaster Dumbledore at Hogwarts. I would like to think that all of my students can come to me with any problems they might have, anything that worries them, any time the world seems too large to handle alone."

Sighing again, he opened the door and walked out. "Goodnight, Mr. Potter. Be well," he said, closing the door, his wand already starting the complicated series of gestures to ward the door to Harry's room, this set specifically against Muggle violence and intrusion.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore couldn't sit and think in his office; it was too dangerous, too many breakable objects. He was too _angry. _Instead, he stood on top of the Hogwarts tower where Astronomy was taught, the delicate scopes put away and nothing fragile nearby, just the open sky and some rocky architecture. The clear and starry dome filled his senses, the wind bracing but not cold. It had been decades since he'd had an accidental magic incident but today might be the one to break that streak of self control, hence his self-imposed exile from breakable and ancient artifacts.

"Three times," he thought as he raged, seethed internally, "three times in my life have I been that ferocious." In his long, long life Albus had lost many friends, most of his family, all of his childhood. He would eternally damn himself before allowing Harry Potter to suffer the same way he had. Goodness knows he was already fated to suffer enough. Stones nearby groaned from the magical disturbance as Albus paced back and forth.

And these, these _people_ Harry lived with were what Minerva had called "the worst kind of Muggles." Albus hadn't believed it at the time – Minerva had a...history with wizarding children and Muggle parents, it being a regular conflict that fell to the Deputy Headmistress to solve. It was a constant conflict, sometimes bringing joy but more often heartbreak. Muggle parents who were not accepting of magic or seemed likely to threaten their magical children were often charmed to forget anything about magic and to ignore any accidental magic in their presence, being left with the belief that their dear children were attending a prestigious boarding school (which Hogwarts was) where they would be groomed for the best colleges in the country (which they weren't, exactly).

Sometimes, they would simply be Obliviated and have the children taken from them, to be placed with other, magical families. That hadn't happened since Albus had become Headmaster, but it had been a close thing a few times, requiring exacting charms work to minimize the mental trauma to the Muggles. Either solution was sad and morally questionable, but Albus still preferred his. Children should be with their families.

Stopping his pacing and briefly placing his hands on the cool stones, he didn't notice that he left visibly glowing spots on the rocks in the shape of his palms, the granite glowing from the magical discharge. He resumed pacing. In any case, he hadn't believed one of the brightest witches he knew and Harry had paid the price, paid it for ten long, long years.

After a panicked Hagrid had flooed into Hogwarts carrying an unconscious Harry Potter, everyone present had rushed around like chickens with their heads cut off. Madam Pomfrey had quickly found that the boy had simply fainted, most likely from the excitement or, judging by his visible ribs, possibly hunger and exhaustion. The reasons for that and deeper probing had brought horrors to light. After a more detailed physical exam, she gave the boy a light sleeping potion to let him get some more rest. His stomach issues were worrying and might also be related to the day's excitement or just an upset stomach, as children often had. What was more worrying to her were the older injuries.

Madam Pomfrey had described, in detail, the wounds the boy had suffered: multiple incidents of a broken nose, now healed, broken bones, recent contusions, even an old skull fracture and scars from beatings with belts and harder objects. In other words, signs of long, severe, and ongoing abuse. Most wizard children were very, very resistant to injury. Hells, the worst school Quidditch accidents would be fatal to a normal child and were shrugged off in hours by a magical child with the assistance of healing potions. To have sustained this much lasting damage was unimaginable for a normal magical child and could very well have killed or permanently maimed a Muggle child.

The wind whipped unnaturally around Albus as he stomped back and forth across the stones, his footsteps sounding like thunder. He didn't notice.

Madam Pomfrey had wanted the boy moved immediately from the abusive home and into St. Mungo's, but under detailed questioning had told him that at this point, another month (one free of beatings) wouldn't do any more damage if certain care instructions were followed. So Albus had told her to expect Harry the day after school opened for another exam and health review and had promised to resolve the issues in the boy's home immediately and permanently. That had seemed to mollify Madam Pomfrey, or maybe it was the grim look on his face.

Privately, Albus worried whether this abuse had affected Harry's body, his mind, or even his magical core itself but there was no way to get him to either a mind healer or in for a more detailed exam until school started. Looking that closely at someone's magical core was slightly invasive and usually done overnight under the care of a skilled healer and most mind healers worked out of major medical centers. Neither were safe for Harry right now, so Albus had come down on the Dursleys harder than he ever thought possible for him. It was Albus' own history that angered him so, made him less than dispassionate about this specific case, but that was no excuse. Death Eaters weren't as frightening as he had been in that house, in front of those people. But Harry wouldn't suffer them any more, even if Albus had to hex those idiots into a gray smear on the floor.

He had to consciously relax his hands where his nails were digging into his palms. He stopped and stared up at the twinkling sky, trying to calm his thoughts.

After what had happened to his sister when she was six, nothing could make Albus as mad as an abused child. His father had gone to Azkaban for what he'd done, the horrific magical injuries inflicted on those boys who'd attacked her. But Ariana had never been the same since, her magic broken along with her spirit and her mind. She had been a shade of her former self until the day of that horrible accident. Damn Gellert to hell.

After his father was sent away forever for his moment of vengeance, Albus had sworn he'd be smarter than his dad and set out to learn everything about magic, specifically protecting others with it. He had eventually become a master of strategy, plots, and wards, and focused on proactive defensive and political measures to keep students at Hogwarts from harm.

Even though the dark rages still came to him, to strike out like his dad had against those who intentionally hurt others, Albus resisted. So, as much as he wanted to jinx the Dursleys into unrecognizable heaps on the floor, he'd take the patient route and try to see the good in them. Make himself see them as worthy of even continuing to live. He'd have to trust they'd do the right thing, given a second chance. But as a Russian friend of his (long dead now) had said during the long, hard fight against Grindlewald: "Trust, but verify."

He'd made a pocket watch and modeled it after the one the Weasley's had in their house, the old enchantments of which tracked their family members locations and their safety. Arthur had worked long hours a few summers ago to figure out how the family heirloom worked, sharing the details with Albus on how it protected them when they were out of the warm embrace of their house. Now Albus would turn that knowledge around to protect Harry from his...defective family inside their grimly well-ordered Muggle house.

It had required reusing some of the magical links in the Weasley's device, linking them to the watch and adding Harry Potter to the clock face; from now on, all the Weasley's would know where Harry Potter was and (to the limited extent that device listed it) how he was doing. The Headmaster had keyed his pocket watch to that link and to Harry, using the tracking charms already on the old clock but also weaving in an even stronger welfare charm, piggybacking it on the ancient magical heirloom to detail any health issues including exhaustion, hunger, and thirst. If those idiots abused Harry or even made him skip a meal, Dumbledore would know and investigate.

It was a good plan and he had taken the time Harry was undergoing final medical examination and treatment to prepare it, working as fast as he ever had and even pulling Mr. Weasley out of the Ministry to help. Finally standing in that horrible house had almost made him abandon the plan, had made him want to whisk Harry away from there, let him stay at Hogwarts for the rest of his childhood. But the boy would be instantly dragged into the politics of the wizarding world, targeted by dozens of plots, possibly even killed.

With the wards linked to the Dursley's house (via Petunia), nothing Voldemort ever planned could touch Harry. Fate linked them both to that night Harry's mother Lily died protecting him and her last, greatest spell protected him still: no plot, no magic, nothing Voldemort tried would work. Spells would miss, Death Eaters would be intercepted by Aurors, giant monsters would be defeated with improbable defenses and counterattacks or avoided with unlikely coincidences. Anything Voldemort tried to do to hurt Harry would fail, but Harry would have to stay with these horrible people to make it effective. So Albus would arm himself to prevent them from hurting Harry ever again.

Where he'd failed with Tom, letting the lad roam free and hoping he'd see the joy that was magic while blinding himself to the Dark and growing menace of the abused young orphan, Albus swore to succeed with Harry. He shook his head in amazement; he'd been ready to go and do the same damn thing again, letting Harry just wander into the Magical world without any guide, hoping he'd just fit in and be happy. Not that there was much chance of that actually happening, with Voldemort most likely still ghosting around somewhere, but Albus could hope. Now that he looked at it, a hands-on approach would help young Harry immensely, showing him adults could be trusted and would care for him. Something that had likely never occurred to him before.

It was preferential treatment and sweet old Minnie would throw a hissy fit about that, but it wasn't bad to treat someone with special needs with extra care. He'd have to tell all the teachers about Harry's...situation, at least the Muggle part and the damage associated with that. They'd all have to look after him and it would help to explain anything that might come up so they wouldn't take it the wrong way. Albus knew some of the teachers could be very strict sometimes, but he personally hadn't had any problems with that. Perhaps he didn't truly know how children would feel in that situation, having been a prodigy from an early age and not likely to draw anything but gushing praise from any teacher.

He knew, however, that some children had problems with teachers and authority, and sometimes need help fitting into a new learning environment. Albus didn't know how well Harry would take to school at Hogwarts, especially given what he must have gone through with the Dursleys. He'd have a look at the Muggle school transcripts of Harry's – something he knew about from Muggle parent-teacher meetings but didn't usually bother with, as most Muggle born attending Hogwarts had loving parents who kept up with their child's education.

Albus couldn't really hope for that much with the Dursleys, given what he'd found out today, but looking back again at some of the Muggle orphanage documents from Tom Riddle made his blood run cold. Reports of animal abuse, school bullying, theft, unexplained acts of violence, lists of warning signs just went on and on. It would have been obvious if only he had cared to look into the Muggle side of things. He'd not make that mistake again.

Time to call together the heads of House. He'd run it past them first and see if there were any suggestions. Which meant...gods, he'd have to tell Severus everything. How would the lad react to this new, horrible revelation about his best friend's son?

Shutting down his private little pity-party, Albus swept the rubble from where his accidental magic had cracked parapets, waving them back into shape, casting the repair spells quickly and easily. Another swipe removed the scorch marks from the stone roof as he left down the trap door and hurried to the Potion Master's office. He'd have to tell the lad about this privately. Given his own past with Muggles, he might take it hard. Very hard indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Harry Potter and the Witch Queen**  
by _TimeLoopedPowerGamer_

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter.

**Summary: ** Harry Potter never actually beat Voldemort, but rather fought him to a standstill while Europe burned around them. Finding himself an unwilling part of a dark ritual to send him back in time 20 years, he is surprised to see how Dumbledore reacts to proof of obvious child abuse (Harry's), how 11 year old super-genius and Witch Queen in training Hermione reacts to actually having a socially competent friend (Harry), and how much easier it is to shrug off the insults of munchkins when you're a grizzled war veteran.

But there is one huge problem: being sent back blew out his magic entirely. Just waving his wand knocked him out the first time he tried it. Can Hermione help him though his classes even with his magic almost unusable? Will Harry be able to find the secrets to actually killing the Dark Lord and saving his friends from a horrible future without blowing his cover, or even getting mistaken for the Dark Lord himself? Will Neville Longbottom get better grades than him?

**On Content: **Canon-Harry lives in a dark world. This one is darker, with evil turned up to 11 and actual adult situations: everyone is more magical and dangerous, witches and wizards are preternaturally attractive and seductive, people are meaner, magical creatures are horrifying and have back stories, Harry has worse mental issues, teenagers are hornier, villains actually torture and kill people before the last book, etc. Rated M for Maliciousness.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

_Someone was singing softy to Harry. He felt warm all over and generally really, really quite good. Gentle arms held him as he slowly awoke. He couldn't see far without his glasses, but he could easily identify the cloud of shifting dark blond hair curtaining his head in the dim, early morning light of his bedroom. As he lay on his back, drowsy and unmoving, he tried to listen closer but couldn't make out the words to the song. He felt he'd heard it before, though._

_The arms withdrew and now light fingers pressed against his chest, barely touching but constantly moving in a regular pattern. He tried to say something but his mouth felt like it was full of fluff. A lilting, strangely distant voice spoke to him from above."Hush, Harry darling, go back to sleep. The magic isn't finished yet. It is hardly begun."_

_Someone was shifting above him, slowly sliding down his body. Ah! Yes, that was definitely his wife Luna, waking him up in a most special way. At least part of him was awake already, it seemed. As she continued to move down and over and around him, he gasped and his head rolled back into his pillow, his entire body briefly shuddering at the sudden intimacy._

_Starting to rock back and forth, she leaded forward and whispered in his ear, "Sleep Harry. You need to sleep now."_

"_Ahhh, love, how could I possibly do that?" he groaned numbly, not understanding her request. Groggily, he moved his hands to her sides and lightly stroked her flanks. Small, soft hands gently moved his away, pinning them to the bed beside his head. Pressing her upper body firmly to him, she dragged the tips of her breasts down his chest and back up, over and over again._

_Independent thought rapidly escaping him, Harry tried weakly to struggle free, find her mouth with his, something to engage his unusually forceful wife and further their mutual pleasure. Immediately, whole unfairly, she stopped moving and chuckled quietly in his ear._

"_Lay still or I'll get my wand and stun you, my once and future hero," she said huskily. "I must finish this myself for the magic to work. Don't. Move. An inch. I will take care of everything."_

_Everything sounded very good to him right now, even as strangely floaty as he was feeling, so he relaxed and let her continue her early morning exercises. He certainly didn't mind. Breathing a softly laughing "good boy" into his ear, she slowly sat up again, the sudden cold air between them making Harry frown in displeasure. He could now smell a sharp yet subtle scent wafting through the room, one he didn't recognize. Most likely another one of the rare incenses, herbs, or oils that she loved to collect. Maybe it was coming from the candles he could fuzzily see she'd placed at the four corners of the bed, their blurry flames flickering in the shadowy room. Didn't really matter, he concluded, his thoughts drifting away again._

_Luna's hands found his chest once more, her fingertips running lightly over and over again in regular patterns. It felt like she was tracing a picture or running a maze on his skin with her fingers but it also felt amazing, whatever it was. Everything she was doing this morning felt amazing. Her hair brushing his face, her fingers on his skin, her soft voice whispering in his ear, her quiet and lilting singing, her breasts eagerly rubbing against him, her thighs gently holding him, her...well, that part would feel good, wouldn't it. Nothing unusual there. Best enjoy the moment and ask questions later._

_She was singing again, a verse structure now apparent in the unknown words, her body rocking in time to the beautiful music she was making. His entire body seemed to hum along with it now. As she moved above him, her breasts gently swaying, she stared into his eyes, devouring him with her pale gaze and her body. At first he was worried about not being able to help control the pace but he now felt like it could last forever, like he could last forever. All tension had long ago left him and he was one with the moment, with her. He wished he knew the words to the song, or at least remembered where he'd heard it. It sounded magical, he could almost taste the music in the air._

_Minutes seemed to flow together like their bodies did, relentlessly but also effortlessly. She was breathing heavier now, but even her gasping breaths seemed to be part of the tune. It was a gently hopeful song, no sadness even in the graceful tension of the quickly resolved pattern of notes. Her hands still hadn't stopped moving, tracing the same shapes over and over again on his chest._

_When she quickened her pace the song still held together, but more as a counterpoint to her movements, the few parts actually sung were chosen perfectly, added to accent her beautiful movement above him as she ground out the final moments of their pleasure. Her hands stopped their motions on his chest as she started to make gasping cries._

"_Dearest, hold me now!" she moaned, pulling up on his shoulders. Not even thinking about it, he immediately sat forward, wrapping his arms around her body, pressing himself to her as closely as he could. She continued to move strongly, almost violently, finally bringing the both of them to a moaning, shouting, delicious, nearly simultaneous finish._

_Falling backward on the bed once more, Luna wrapped in his arms still, he tried to gather his thoughts, clear his head, but everything was still so fuzzy. His wife whimpered softly and wrapped her hands around his encircling arms, pulling to gently and reluctantly free herself from his embrace._

"_You are amazing, love," she said, still flushed and shaky from their love making, "but I have one more thing I must do now. Hold very still, please."_

_Remaining closely connected to him, she carefully reached over to the bedside table and pulled back a bowl full of some kind of oil. Placing it on the bed beside them, she dipped her fingers into it three times. He lay still, his mind in a haze of pleasure but also confused. He watched as she repeated the same pattern as before on his chest, now with the oil. It was strangely warm and tingled like it was full of electricity. Trusting his wife completely, he simply watched as she finished the design, her face scrunched up in extreme concentration, her hands almost shaking with effort. Every additional line, every new stroke seemed to take more and more effort. He wanted to say something, to help somehow, but some instinct told him not to, to stay still, that it was vitally important that he not interrupt._

_Finished at last, her entire body shaking, she moved the bowl off the bed and then placed both of her still oil-soaked hands on the sides of his head, against his temples. She was leaning over him now, still entirely naked and smiling like sunshine itself, and all the cares of the world fled before the sight of her. Leaning forward, still holding his head, she kissed him long and deep before placing her lips to his ear once more._

_S__he whispered quietly __to him, __"Hear these words from my soul __again__, beloved, __that __they __may __protect you in what is to come." __She took a deep breath, t__hen started to speak __sounds__ of terrible beauty and power. __H__e couldn't remember what they were __from one word to the next, the knowledge __seemingly __spilling out of his brain immediately, __but they were familiar, like he'd heard them before. __B__ut when?_

_The power __passed through him __and __also __fill__ed__ him, __and __then she __went silent__ and he felt __suddenly __numb. __Unable to move, h__e__ could still hear and feel as Luna moved off of him carefully and away, off the bed, briefly searching for something in the room._

"_I am so sorry, Harry," Luna said softly __from next to their bed__, sounding immensely sad now, __her wand in her hand__. "Please forgive me __once more__." __She took a__nother__ deep breath and t__hen __said__ one last word __before darkness took him._

"_Obliviate."_

* * *

Harry woke up shivering, body aching but head clear. An odd, still half-remembered dream was just fleeing his mind, disappearing entirely as he tried to catch it, leaving only a sense of something precious lost forever. He was forgetting something.

Well, it wasn't Voldemort in his dreams so it can't have mattered that much. He hurt all over, his neck had a crick in it from the book he'd had his head on, and his stomach was a huge knot, but the scar wasn't on fire. Therefore, old snakeface wasn't peeping on his brain. Good enough.

It was tough getting used to that. It had been years since Voldemort had allowed him a moment's peace through their ever-strengthening connection. His cursed wound was on fire almost all the time for years while he fought a losing battle against the Death Eaters and their leader with his few remaining friends. It was only after Hermione finally taught him a minor amount of Occlumency that Harry had a good night's sleep, but it would still burn most of the time when he was awake.

He was on his bed, having fallen asleep slumped over his books after skimming most of the history and all of his other first year textbooks – they seemed so simple and straightforward now, looking back after all those years. He still needed to make sure the fiddly little details were memorized before tests and such but, overall, he thought he'd give 11-year-old Hermione a run for her money. If that was a good idea, that is. He'd have to think about that – hiding his current abilities and knowledge.

After fumbling for his glasses for a short while he finally found them tucked under the rumpled covers and put them on again. He needed to make plans, lists, all that Hermione-stuff she always did when they got in trouble in their old school days. If he failed, people would die. Just like their old school days. So, brainstorming lists, checklists, planning lists, and maybe a saving-people schedule with little colored boxes according to how much he cared if the person died. With his foreknowledge, it should have been simple.

But things had already changed – Dumbledore had apparently directly and magically intervened with his Aunt and Uncle, possibly preventing the next six years of abuse he'd suffered during his first...lifetime. He needed terms for this, it was getting confusing. His "family" certainly had given him plenty of space yesterday, when he'd still been nearly immobile from weakness most of the afternoon. And then his Aunt had...made soup for him.

_That _had certainly never happened before and, despite her lemon-sucking facial expression, it had been perfectly nice soup (if predictably from a can). And his horrible Uncle acted like he was invisible, simply looking over his head at something else and stopping until Harry got out of his way in the halls last night, instead of knocking him aside like he would have before. And no one even tried to touch his door, his Aunt having simply called out to him when she'd brought up the soup. Dumbledore must have done something to it, too. Maybe muggle-repelling charms of some kind.

Getting up to take a quick shower before the household awoke (like he always had in the past..future...now, whatever), he found his thoughts wander while he sung softly in the echoing bathroom, just barely louder than the falling water. Trying not very hard to avoid waking anyone with the noise, he reveled in the music he was making, not remembering a shower he'd ever enjoyed this much. Plans eventually sorted themselves out in his head as the hot water drove the last remnants of sleep from him.

There had to be a root cause. Was this all because of his collapse while shopping and the resulting brief visit to the Hogwarts hospital wing? Was it some other change to the history of this timeline, before he'd "arrived"? How much more would the world change when he started actively trying to prevent bad things from happening? Even the smallest new decisions would require him to think long and hard if he wanted to remain in control, and Harry knew from his previous time through these years that he'd seldom be given a second to think. Things just seemed to explode and fly at him at Firebolt speeds constantly. Even if he started with some successes things would change and he'd lose his primary edge. Especially when he started seeking out major events to change, like saving his Dogfather early. Which he _had to do_.

The Dursleys hadn't disturbed him the other night when, feeling a lot better, he'd come down for a cold sandwich. He'd taken a chance and just blown off all his usual cooking and cleaning chores. No backlash. So far, it looked like "cleaning up his room" and "taking out the trash" were the only chores Dumbledore had left his relatives mentally capable of assigning to him, and he didn't have to start in on those until next week according to his Aunt's stammered, eye-contact-less conversation. Hell, Dudley hadn't even tried to _verbally_ bully him last night. Yeah, that stunk of magic. Harry couldn't remember a 24 hour period where the prick had ever been able to keep his fat mouth closed in the previous 15 years Harry had known him. Then the Death Eaters killed and skinned them all – he'd had mixed feelings about that one.

A wonderful smell filled the kitchen as his breakfast finished cooking: a full, Classic English Spread Plus (plus tons more bacon, that was), but still loosely, sort of (not really) conforming to doctor's orders. After, he retreated to his room to do more planning and list making. Whistling softly while feeding Hedwig some of the bacon he'd saved from earlier, he proceeded to get his ideas in better order. Harry frowned in thought, quill poised above his paper. He'd start with the big items.

Quirrell couldn't be saved; he'd already been taken over by Voldemort at this point and tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone once. At least Harry hadn't screwed up Hagrid rescuing it from the bank vault earlier. Protecting the Stone itself didn't seem to be an issue. His first time through, the old snake hadn't been able to figure out the mirror, which was the real defensive measure Dumbledore had planned.

Defending his friends while Voldemort was in the castle had to be his goal. Hagrid's egg might not even get delivered but, if it was, he could arrange to owl Ron's brother Charlie immediately about the dragon as soon as the egg showed up. Speaking of dangerous beasts – what was he going to do about Draco? And good gods, what about Hermione?

Gripping the edge of the table with his tiny hands, he tried to control his breathing, shoulders shaking. He tapped his fingers on his desk to the rhythm of the song he was humming, attempting to calm down. Okay, threats, in order of most dangerous to least: Hermione, Voldemort, the Troll, Draco, baby dragon, Dumbledore.

"First things first," he said to Hedwig, where she sat on his desk, "I'll meet the girl who will become the most powerful witch of her generation, possibly of all time, on the train. No option there."

If Ron and him hadn't become her friend, how much worse would things have been for her? She might have died. Or become Darker, even earlier. Maybe...maybe if he'd been a better friend to the frizzy-haired young witch, she wouldn't have taken such a Dark path after their friends died.

He had to draw any fire from Quirrell away from his friends. Voldemort might try to involve someone in his plans this time, the same way he did in the second year. While he was thinking about it, ensuring Ginny never ended up in Tom's diary's clutches was also a "must" – he'd never had a clear idea of how much damage those months under his sway had done, but she'd never been truly mentally well after. Bargaining away her soul and voluntarily becoming the violent, amoral right-hand to the Witch Queen was only the final symptom of the problem.

The troll was easy, if it even happened: he knew a half-dozen spells that even a First Year had enough power to cast that would, in combination, delay, disable, or kill it. Keeping little girls from wandering around the night of the feast would be the best defense. He'd keep his friends close that night. In fact, allowing anyone to die the entire time he was at Hogwarts would be bad, so he'd have to do his best to prevent that, too. He wouldn't even try and lead Draco into a deathtrap, no matter how much fun it was to think about. Deaths in Hogwarts would reflect poorly on Dumbledore and they'd need him in place for years to come, battling the pro-Death Eater forces in the government who'd try to take over the school. Even if Harry's last few conversations with the old man hadn't been exactly...friendly. He'd regretted those unkind words, after Dumbledore was found dead that night.

"Maybe I could tone-down the Draco hating," he mentioned to the snowy owl, who had just started to drift off to sleep. "Doesn't mean we have to be friends, but running battles in the corridors should be avoidable." She looked frostily at him, not commenting.

Making Slytherin house less actively hostile could also pay dividends later in the war. And maybe he could reach out to the other houses, especially when his dearest showed up next year, 11 years old and terribly vulnerable. That was assuming he couldn't get her sorted into Gryffindor somehow, where he could protect her better. Letting the bullying Ravenclaw had put her through happen again, especially those first two years, was not an option. Getting contacts in the other houses could also help bring more wands to their side in the coming conflict.

He had a month to prep before the Hogwarts train ride and would have to figure out if he could get anything from the muggle or magical world that would help. Once he was at the school, he wouldn't be able to get away. It was unlikely that Dumbledore would suddenly let him go home for Christmas holidays, so that meant he'd have to pack war supplies to last until next summer.

He had all the basic school supplies and his long-lost friend Hedwig back, but additional equipment might help with specific problems. Equipment, stuff he needed...his Invisibility Cloak! Harry almost smeared the page with ink in realization. He couldn't change too much too early or Dumbledore might not even give it to him!

"No getting caught trying to acquire Dark items of power or practicing torturing people, Mr. Potter," Harry thought with a chuckle, Hermione's sing-song voice echoing in his head. At least Mad-Eye wasn't watching the Dursley house yet, so he could still get away with some stuff at home. Best hide anything too bad, maybe in a better trunk, before the Order reformed and the paranoid old dog showed up.

As for the other stuff, he could get to Diagon Alley with the Knight Bus, Knockturn Alley too, most likely without anyone's notice. Well, anyone but Dumbledore and his blasted little monitoring charms. He might not have been able to tell Harry was starving, but he sure as hell would know if he wandered into London on his own for hours.

"Maybe if I establish a pattern of travel," he concluded, looking at Hedwig, who was still trying to take a nap, "I would be ignored long enough to make a quick trip." She ignored him completely this time.

The Trace on underage magic would sense if he practiced any spells, with his assigned wand or others (the Trace was on his house and himself, so black market wands were only useful to rogue hit wizards working out of hidden warehouses and the like), but he could work on potions if he could get the ingredients, so "no" to a spare wand and yes to lots of potion supplies. At least until he figured out how to break the Trace.

The Hermione in his head was screaming at him now, trying to get his attention – books. Of course. "_Hogwarts, A History_", all years class books for all classes (not those awful ones by Lockhart, but the standard ones), anything he could find on advanced magical theory (might as well continue his education there). Maybe he could find some old Auror training manuals – the publicly available ones at least. Sort of the wizarding world equivalent of having copies of Soldier of Fortune magazine lying around. Might make a good cover if he needed to break out advanced skills early.

"Maybe I'll spend some more time on my wandless magic once I got to Hogwarts," he said to Hedwig, "It's something I've never been really comfortable with." The owl simply stared back at him, shifting back and forth on her feet.

Not that he could practice that outside of school or even inside where anyone could see him, but maybe in the Room of Requirements. There might also be a way to get an exemption to the underage magic laws if he could buddy-up to Fudge, but that might not be worth it. Maybe hire private tutors? His trust vault could easily pay for it. Dumbledore might be convinced to help out with that if Harry could avoid looking like too much of a Dark Lord in training or an immature prat this time. He'd have to look into it, but the pure-blood elites like Draco obviously had them, so it might just be a matter of bribing the right politicians and bureaucrats.

Speaking of rotten politics, what about Sirius? Harry would have to figure out a way to get him out safely earlier or make damn sure everything happened the same way again. He'd not lose his Dogfather a second time, not to some random chance event and not to his own ill-conceived actions, like last time. He'd blast holes through mountains, light the Ministry of Magic on fire with just his mind, turn all the gold in Gringotts purple, whatever it took to prevent that. Maybe he could figure out a way to politically sell reopening his godfather's case quietly, limiting Fudge's own political embarrassment. Sirius' lack of trial was something that fell on a previous administration's shoulders (Bagnold had a lot to answer for) so, if played right, it might be something they could work out. Cornelius Fudge, Defender of Truth and Justice and friend of Harry Potter and his Godfather; could be enough to swing Fudge his way, but it would have to be very quiet and might not be possible this year. Time to get some publicity, and not the crappy kind like his last life.

The thought of Sirius being stuck in that horrible place even one day more hurt, but he'd have to play this right. Get it wrong, Fudge might just arrange for an "accident" for Sirius while still in Azkaban, something no one would question. People died in there all the time. Playing politics would have to come after people were warmed up to the idea of Harry Potter.

Which brought Harry to Dumbledore again. For some reason, the Headmaster had stomped on his Aunt and Uncle instantly after seeing him in the hospital wing. Dumbledore seemed more quietly angry than Harry had ever seen yesterday, but had spoken personally to him calmly and sadly, even subtly asking Harry to owl him if something was worrying him. Like his guardians beating him again.

Maybe that scan Madam Pomfrey had done at Hogwarts had shown something, like all his injuries from years of abuse. But why had she taken notice this time? Being a Quidditch player or just being at Hogwarts might have excused some of it. Perhaps a later treatment or potion, prescribed for something obviously wrong with him, had healed the long-term damage before she'd done a more detailed scan. In any case, Dumbledore was aware of his true situation now and seemed to be a lot more hands-on in taking care of him. Maybe getting Sirius out of jail early would cause him to place Harry with his godfather instead of his horrible relatives, wards or not. If Sirius' place was good enough for him to hide at and also work as headquarters for the Order, surely it would be good enough to protect Harry. If nothing else, he could spend a few weeks with his "family" and then leave for the rest of the summer. He was absolutely sure they wouldn't mind him leaving early.

An hour later, head in his hand and random scribbles on the pages instead of useful lists, Harry stopped to gather his thoughts. He spent a few minutes trying to calm himself, whistling a little tune while Hedwig looked on, one fluffy eyebrow seemingly raised. Harry looked back at her with a twinkle in his eye. Reaching over to play with her a little, he pondered Dumbledore's previous fears for Harry, things that he'd tried to do to control him in the name of protecting a young child. Things he'd done to "allow him a normal childhood" (Harry scoffed out loud at the idea) and to eventually prepare him to fulfill the prophecy. He'd trained with Dumbledore for less than half a year, and it had mostly been discussions about Horcruxes, not powerful spells or how to battle a Dark Lord and stand toe-to-toe with his power. But the prophecy said he'd fight Tom. Dumbledore had apparently read it as him having something better than a 50/50 chance.

What a load of crap that had been – Dumbledore had died before even finding the identity all of Tom's Horcruxes, Harry hadn't had the power or skill required to fight even a holding action against Voldemort, the search for the remaining shards of Tom's soul was a failure before it even started, and then he got to watch as nearly everyone in his life died to Voldemort's forces. No prophecy had saved them. Maybe this strange second chance was the power his foe "knew not" or perhaps it had actually been fulfilled when he'd killed the evil bastard the first time as a baby. Who knew? Harry decided he'd not let Dumbledore sacrifice his freedom for vague promises. The time to train was now; his childhood had never existed, this life or the last.

But there were other issues, most importantly that Dumbledore had shut him out for almost an entire year before just because he'd feared Harry was a security risk, what with the Dark Lord sending him horrible visions. That it might have been a two-way street, Voldemort looking back into his mind, was something they hadn't proven, but it hadn't helped how the scar had been making him half crazy and how he'd lost his temper so many times. There were also some political issues, but Harry had never really understood those. 1996 had been a horribly dark year but nothing excused him being ignored like that, not even his lashing out. Maybe he could get a better handle on it this time. Or maybe the best he'd end up doing is not punching those fat, stupid politicians in the face every time he saw them.

Yeah, his moodiness and his temper that year hadn't endeared him to his friends either. That was also too much of an echo of Tom's hidden violence and later aggressive madness for Dumbledore to risk fully cluing Harry into the inner-circle. Harry thought it might actually have been a fear of Voldemort taking over his mind, like Ginny and the diary, once the old wizard had realized the full horror of the Horcruxes after Voldemort's graveyard resurrection.

While it might be a link to Tom's soul, it certainly wasn't a Horcrux. The Hermione of his time had assured him of that. Maybe it functioned similarly, but it wasn't trying to take over his mind. The only time Voldemort had tried anything like that, snakeface had gotten his mental ass kicked and had never tried again. In his opinion, Dumbledore had vastly overreacted the risk. Harry's scar had some sort of connection to Tom, that was for sure, but he wasn't getting any special Dark powers, other than possibly Parseltongue.

But if Harry tried anything that looked too "Dark" or violent this time, it might be a possibility Dumbledore would again entertain. With proof backing that theory up, it might been taken more seriously – there was no way Dumbledore would risk a second Tom Riddle. When he was at Hogwarts the first go-around, he hadn't been anything like a skilled student, except for maybe the later years in DADA. Anyway, most of that was fairly Light magic, thus not drawing attention to him as a credible new Dark Lord. But now he'd need an excuse for every skill he showed, every powerful spell he used in this fight, not showing anything even slightly Dark unless it was life or death for him and his friends.

"Getting the DA started early will be key," he mentioned to his owl, who was now sitting on a shelf in his closet. She wasn't even looking at him.

Maybe get Tonks and Cedric involved. Older students. Oliver Wood? Hard to get him away from the Quidditch pitch. Wait, was Tonks still in school? Whatever. Get Flitwick to supervise the new DA or a dueling club, if at all possible. Exposure to experienced students would excuse a lot of fast power gain. And hanging out with Hermione would do the most, as everyone would soon believe her capable of learning just about any spell. Harry was going to have to depend on her and, while he admitted he was sort of scared of her, he'd have to remember this was an innocent little girl now, not the terror of Europe and ruler in exile of the British Isles.

Face contorted in pain, Harry started shuffling through the notes he'd made, something that only reminded him more of his bushy-haired old friend. She'd be 11 years old now, almost 12, poring over her own books, safe with her mother and father (still alive and healthy) in her quiet, beautiful house (not yet burned down), unaware of what horrible things could happen or what terrible prices she'd pay one day for power. Hermione didn't even know he existed yet. Well, technically she most likely did: Harry Potter was famous and in _books_.

But that wasn't why she'd became his friend the first time and he wouldn't depend on a rampaging troll to convince her people cared about her this time. Hell, if it were possible, Harry would wrap the girl in powerful wards, lock her in a Fidelius-charmed room, and just toss in food and the occasional books until Voldemort was finally defeated. But the smartest person he'd ever met was vital to defeating Voldemort, and was obviously their greatest potential warrior in the fight against evil.

It was strange, Harry thought looking at his books again and trying not to cry, but most people had thought he was the one who was the powerhouse in their team. With a sad smile, he remembered he wasn't even in the top three.

Watching beautiful, brave Luna fight was like seeing an action movie. She always seemed to know what was coming before the spell was even cast and everything turned out looking choreographed, Luna dodging things she couldn't have seen coming, distracting foes just in time to save friends from being blasted in the back, firing blind and trick shots that were simply not believable to any experienced dueler. And she was insanely powerful, able to fight for hours without tiring, face unchanging, a soft smile on her lips. And she never, ever gave up.

Luna was one of the few survivors of the attack on Hogwarts that had killed virtually everyone at the school, including every last teacher, leaving few students still alive. Many of those Luna had dragged out of the smoldering ruins of the ancient castle by hand, her magic having been virtually exhausted in the fight. She had barely been able to Apparate out with the other survivors in the end, after the wards had fallen. Luna had never said how many Death Eaters she'd killed that day, but other survivors put the number of solo kills in the high teens at least, and that had been when she was only 16 (almost 17). She'd only grown stronger later, especially after finally discovering her Seer abilities. She had still died, in the end.

"But everything is fine now," he told Hedwig, who was still in the closet. He sat there for a few minutes calmly, just breathing deeply and tapping his fingers rhythmically on his desk, a strange, strong incense tickling his nose. "She loved me deeply and she is alive again and I'll never let that happen a second time," he concluded, stating the obvious and daring Hedwig to argue. She didn't. Good. That was his final word on the matter and he didn't need to think about it anymore right now.

Then there was Neville Longbottom, the one who'd run the student's side of the defense of Hogwarts. With a good wand, Neville was a magical wrecking-ball, the best argument for the power of blood purity ever; strangely, this was something the Death Eaters never considered as they constantly underestimated the lad. Neville had trouble _lowering _the power of his spells most of the time, resulting sometimes in spectacular disasters even in classes like potions, where his accidental magic blew things up on a regular basis. It wasn't until getting a matched wand that things started calming down and he was able to correctly channel his stupidly-large powers into working spells.

He was possibly the strongest (though Flitwick was certainly more experienced) wizard at Hogwarts when he'd dueled Bellatrix during the Death Eater attack. He'd won in the end, blowing a hole the size of a basketball in the evil bitch, just before he'd been tagged from behind by some random mook and bleed out in the Hogwarts hallways. Luna had still retrieved his body, despite it being behind enemy lines at that point. No one knew how and she wouldn't talk about it.

Hermione hadn't cried when she heard about Neville in the aftermath of the fall of Hogwarts. In fact, she hadn't ever cried for her dead lover that he knew. But he'd seen the circle in the grass around where she'd been standing when she'd gotten the news, blacked instantly in a powerful accidental magic discharge. Nine years later it was unchanged by time, cursed ground where nothing was able to grow, as dead as her heart had become. Everything kind and Light in the young woman had evaporated that day.

Oh, Hermione. Why hadn't anyone noticed that she always, _always_ had the power to do any of the powerful spells they practiced, especially in the later years? It was really only the emotion-based spells she had had trouble with previously. Stuff like the Patronus charm, healing magic, divination. Also, Dark curses had escaped her for a long time as she couldn't seem to get in the right frame of mind. But after Neville died, she hadn't had any trouble with them, or with Avada Kedavra.

There were other signs of her power, like how she was able to practice for _hours_ longer than anyone else. It was really obvious, in retrospect. She had a deep well of magic when other people merely had shallow puddles, and it only grew as she matured. By 19, she was as powerful as any witch or wizard in the world and knew more spells than all but the most ancient of them. Her skills were incredible and she sought out knowledge and devoured it relentlessly – something that neither Voldemort nor Dumbledore really continued to do in their later year. She could do permanent enchantments with minimal preparation, could Conjure heavy metals and even some radioactive elements in combat, and no ritual had ever been beyond her ability, even ones that usually required an entire Coven of witches to cast. Even before she started boosting her abilities with Dark new powers and Eldritch bargains, the Hogwarts founders themselves couldn't have been much more powerful and knowledgeable. No human alive knew how strong her magic was when he'd met her for that last time, in that terrible ritual.

Luna wouldn't join them until next year (he counted the days) but Neville and Hermione would be there with him in a month. They would be his core this year, along with Ron (nearly fatally lazy but a very skilled and methodical plotter when you forced his hand) and the Weasley twins (constantly ditching class to work on some of the most amazing magical inventions since the Founders' time). He'd need the Twins on his side until he could convince them the Marauder's Map was Harry's legacy so they'd hand it over. Maybe if he showed them the Room of Requirements after proving Sirius' innocence (and nickname) they'd consider it a fair trade.

Tapping his quill on the page, Harry was trying to remember something. What was he forgetting? Something about the map. Something it didn't cover? If it was important, he was sure he'd remember. But first, finish his lists. Harry started thinking outside the box more, getting some more extreme ideas.

Though it was tempting, he couldn't get one of those fancy trunks like Mad-Eye had – someone would eventually notice even if Dumbledore didn't. The Headmaster had seen his room and current trunk and the old man had virtually a photographic memory. And that was if he didn't detect the crazy magic on the trunk itself.

He couldn't get any poisoned knives or goblin swords – those were almost certainly restricted and Dumbledore would surely spot them even if the Hogwarts wards didn't. Also violates the "don't look evil" plan. Same for undetectable poisons or cursed underpants or some such. He'd have to limit himself to stuff the Twins could get away with.

Other clothing had similar issues: if he got something he had to regularly wear (like armor), the Headmaster would wonder when he'd bought it. Especially if he was decked out like an Auror or a Hit Wizard all the time. Maybe if he bodged something together from spare parts. What kinds of things could he use?

Wand holders were obvious, maybe just one for his current wand. Once Dumbledore believed in the threat of Voldemort, maybe he could get away with a spare wand. Until then, just a quick-draw arm holster would work. Nothing with magic, though. So just leather and a simple friction releases with something attached to the base of his wand – just let them try and disarm him with a leather cord tied to it! He could make something from some of Dudley's old clothing, currently stowed in his bedroom closet, and maybe use some of the broken toys also shoved in there. Harry started sketching out the design and poking through the closet for parts, disturbing Hedwig who was still trying to take a nap.

* * *

The ice-cold Kentucky bourbon was rapidly warming to room temperature in his glass, but the dark-haired man didn't notice. The finely tailored robe he was wearing (not his usual, shabby lab robe) was still sparking slightly from the magical discharge, secondary static electricity audibly arcing into the overstuffed chair he was lounging in. The same accidental magic generating the electrical display had dispelled the minor cooling charm he'd placed on the glass of alcohol. Yes, magic to cool his glass. Not a waste, really. Only a berk diluted drink with ice when magic was available, was his opinion, but now he had something else on his mind.

"Excuse me Headmaster," he said, oozing with relaxed charm, barely keeping himself from crushing the glass in his hand. "I must have misheard. Could you...repeat that?"

"Oh my dear boy, this is all my fault," Albus said, almost in tears. That part alone terrified Severus, who'd seen the old wizard calmly continue fighting Death Eaters without a moment's pause seconds after seeing friends cut down in front of him. "It's Harry Potter, James and Lily's child Severus: he's been at a muggle relative's home this whole time, one I selected for him. And they've...they've been abusing him quite harshly I'm afraid. I'm so sorry, Severus. This should never have happened."

Albus slumped into his own overstuffed chair, looking pale and completely defeated. "He's safe now, I made sure of that personally. Wards on his room, compulsion charms on the muggles, long-term protection charms on the child, and new tracking and health monitoring spells based on a magical artifact of an Ancient House. As for young Harry's health, he is well enough now but...it looks like years of physical abuse, though not...we don't think..." Albus seemed to have trouble breathing for a moment, then continued, "We'll have a mind healer on-site the first week of classes and once a month after to work with the boy. It is the least we can do."

"A mere bandage applied late to a gaping wound? Yes, it does seem like that has been our level of effort up to this point, doesn't it?" Severus snapped. He ground his empty hand into his eyes. Albus winced yet again.

"What about your worries concerning Potter, about him being Dark because of the curse mark, about _his _influence on a developing young mind?" the raven-haired man asked, his shoulders slumped, head bowed and hair hiding his face.

"Severus, that remains to be seen. He is not cruel, not Dark that I could see. He seemed neutral at worst about my confrontation with his...guardians. He didn't seem happy that they were being brought to task, merely...sad." Albus swallowed hugely. "But there are other worrying signs: I believe he is a natural Occlumens of some strength, or has become one because of the Dark scar or the abuse. I did not dare test him for fear he'd feel it, but the way his mood shifted around like it was on ice made it clear he was hiding his emotions behind strong mental shields regularly. That is the only unusual ability I saw him demonstrate, which is most worrying in and of itself but certainly not Dark.

"One would expect some strange magical side-effects from the cursed scar. The Dark magic within it would fight against the boy's natural magical core, at least to some extent and his magic would grow around the wound to contain it. You know my original theory, that it would strengthen the boy's powers. But instead his magical aura is...muted, stretched. He seemed magically..." here Albus paused, tapping his fingers, "well, frail for a boy his age. He might even have passed out from a reaction to wand testing, though it is possible he was ill and that affected it.

"But if the question is, 'was it like with Tom?' The answer seems to be a resounding 'no'. Tom was arrogant in bearing, boastful when questioned on his favorite topics, and untruthful when cornered on his misdeeds. Harry seemed quite normal if a little shell-shocked. Amazingly so, given what he must have gone through. I will be checking up on him before the school year starts and later I'll get his muggle school transcripts. Hopefully those will not show anything...dangerous, like with Tom."

The old wizard sighed and looked at the young man in front of him. "It may come down to how he is received here. Can you put away your hatred of his father and lay aside revenge for the great discourtesies he showed you?" Albus asked. The old wizard's eyes started to twinkle, annoying Severus as it always did (as Albus knew it did). "Treated with love and care, he could be our greatest ally against Voldemort."

Severus twitched at the name. Albus continued, "If not for the Greater Good, then, perhaps, for Lily's sake. Did you know that Harry has her eyes?"

The glass shattered into sand in the Potion Master's hand, his other whipping out his wand. Not pausing for a second, Severus gestured at the spilled liquid on his chair and lap to clean it up with a single, silent spell. He noticed with interest that Albus hadn't even blinked at the sudden movement.

Putting his wand away again and straightening his robes, Severus gathered himself visibly. "Fine, Headmaster," he said, words dripping, "if he is anything short of a completely useless, clod-brained, selfish, self-important, arrogant, preening brat then I shall teach him my fine art without harassment. I'll not coddle him, though. No matter what other dolts think, I'll not put him on a pedestal. And I'll have to be distant, too; my cover won't work otherwise."

Albus stood with some effort, already drained though he was not even close to finished for the night. His project on the third floor was extremely exhausting, as carving a new space out of Hogwarts' magical structure usually was. As he started to leave, he spoke over his shoulder, "Thank you Severus. There will be hope in the boy's life again, I promise you that." Severus grunted for his reply.

Minutes after the Headmaster had left, Severus was still lost in thought, still unmoving, mind lost in the memory of flowing red hair and soft, caring green eyes. "Perhaps," he said to the empty room, "perhaps for her..."

* * *

_Bam! Bam! Bam!_

Harry's head hit the library desk loud enough to bring frowns and stares from a librarian. They had already warned him off for humming too loud to himself. Best not anger them further, even if he had just realized how incredibly stupid he'd been, forgetting Hogwarts' greatest secret.

For the last week, he'd been going to the local public library every day. His relatives were glad to see the back of him and he was glad to be out of the house. It was useful for clearing his head, researching some muggle-related stuff he'd need this year and also making a good cover story for his Diagon Alley trip – if caught, he might even be able to pass it off as an accident that he'd called the Knight Bus and he'd simply taken advantage of it.

But, most importantly, it helped him finally remember the greatest secret of Hogwarts. In his defense, it was 19 years ago as his personal history counted it. But still – how could he have forgotten Salazar's giant fucking basilisk?!

He'd been researching snakes, in case he ever needed to make an army of them in an emergency or something. Also, because he was very, very bored and couldn't read his magic books in the library for fear of being discovered. That was when he suddenly remembered about another snake, the basilisk of the Chamber of Secrets.

Would he wait for Tom's diary to appear first? Just hold off "discovering" it until Second Year, so he wouldn't screw up Lucius leaving the diary with Ginny? Maybe Lucius didn't know what the diary really was or what Tom's soul fragment would do once it gained control of someone. And it would be really, really hard to sleep at night knowing the huge deadly snake was just waiting there under everything. But could he control it? Maybe he could go to Dumbledore about it, tell him about the ancient secret.

There was a thought: maybe he could pretend to have some of Voldemort's knowledge in his head. Technically, he did. It was just in the form of visions of what he was doing, beamed into his brain through the scar link in the later school years. And after school, from him hunting down and beating the crap out of Death Eaters who died conveniently after monologuing at him. Well, all that and some of the Dark knowledge Hermione and her gang had wrenched from the burning shell of Europe, whatever he'd been able to understand and to stomach using. So quite a lot, really.

Harry even considered how easy it would be to head-off some of the other fears Dumbledore had by "exposing" other secrets about that link. Maybe tell the Headmaster that he sometimes got visions of his parent's deaths and Voldemort killing other people and such. The old man was already worried about Harry and this would give him something concrete to latch onto. That Harry already had Occlumency shields would help Dumbledore trust Harry's mental security more. Also, if he ended up showing some advanced knowledge of Dark and secret spells that he couldn't possibly know about, well, that was why. A good excuse to cover a multitude of situations.

It would give Dumbledore simple problems to solve, like his scar hurting when he was around Quirrell, and draw the two of them together closer and faster than the first time around. Harry thought that much of the uncertainly and distrust between the two of them had been the Headmaster trying to figure out how compromised Harry's mind was by Voldemort's failed attack when he was a baby and the resulting cursed scar's effects.

Yes, this could indeed work. He'd be able to confide everything important that happened to him to the most powerful wizard in the world without fearing being locked up as a madman and the Headmaster would get to feel he was helping Harry deal with the situation.

Not realizing how he cursed himself, Harry briefly smiled and thought, "What could possibly go wrong."

* * *

He was going to have a heart attack, standing right here in the train station. This was crazy. He wasn't fighting Death Eaters, he wasn't seeing his friends slaughtered by giants, this wasn't a ritual of blood and death and madness and fae power beyond human comprehension: it was just a crowd. What the hell was wrong with him?

Harry gulped again and tried not to turn on the spot and run. His whole body ached (except, hilariously enough, his scar), he felt sick and jittery, he wanted to stun everyone in sight or yell at them or something. He was a mess.

The Dursleys had left him between platforms 9 and 10, not even looking back. Vernon had snorted at the lack of a platform 9 ¾ and then smirked at him, turned, and left, having determined Harry and his school trunk were now somebody else's problem.

He'd been standing there for 10 minutes. The pressure was now drilling into Harry's head, sweat beading on his brow. He reviewed where every weapon he owned was and what he had on him right now, which was basically just his wand in the new makeshift dueling holster (he'd done some improvements after looking at a real one again while shopping). Anything really interesting had to be left behind at home as the Hogwarts wards would surely pick them up.

The shopping trip last week had been...odd. Disguised in an old Halloween costume of Dudley's (black Sith robes from Star Wars, hilarious), he'd picked up more than he'd originally intended and hadn't gotten caught. In fact, after getting some gold from the bank, everyone just accepted his money without asking any questions. Hood down, he'd even managed to shop in Knockturn Alley. He hadn't gotten anything truly Dark, just maybe a little sharp and pointy and poisonous. A good, uneventful shopping trip.

And then Dumbledore had showed up at his Aunt's door minutes after he'd returned, just after he'd changed out of his disguise, scaring the piss out of him. But the old man hadn't even asked to come up to his room, simply talking to him briefly in the hall before having yet another meeting with his relatives. Dumbledore had left without talking to him again, whatever his task was completed.

Harry hadn't freaked out then, though, either at Dumbledore or the crones in Knockturn Alley – a place honestly more dangerous than here, this safely padded and supervised public place, a neutral ground where the wealthy and powerful sent their kids off to school. So this latest bizarre reaction was worrying him a lot.

Crowds – they had meant danger to him, before. Anyone could be a Death Eater, a Faewalker, a Shapeshifter, or worse: a Polyjuiced Ginny Granger. He knew that was now impossible, intellectually. The Bargain hadn't been sealed, wouldn't if he could stop it. Ginny was sane, sweet, lovable, sane, not-at-all-dangerous; a normal-eyed 10-year-old girl who was most likely walkingupbehindhimrightnow! Harry whipped his head around and almost drew his wand.

"Shit, shit, shit," he thought, realizing he'd freaked himself out just thinking about meeting the Weasleys.

Harry was there early, for the first time in his life, and he'd have no excuse not to pass through the entryway this time. Dumbledore's instructions were crystal clear on how to do it. He couldn't stall any longer in case someone was watching him. "Remember the cover," he repeated over and over behind his mental shields. "No mistakes, no more second chances, CONSTANT! VIGILANCE!"

Looking both ways then dragging his trunk (bird cage in his other hand) through the portal, he saw the last thing future-him had ever thought he'd see again: the Hogwarts Express. It was gleaming, loud, steaming, and not at all broken and on fire, lying beside scorched tracks, tiny little bodies scattered around it like seed-heads blown by a giant.

"Pull it together, Potter!" he yelled inside his head, trying to relax while continuing to trudge forward. "Look!" he thought, "There's a disguised Auror, being terminally bored looking after little kids getting on a perfectly safe train that no one has ever died on. And there, some of the parents of the students, gathered and chatting to the brats through the train windows. And no one trying to kill anyone, just like it should be."

Harry slid to a halt and started concentrating on his breathing, looking down at Hedwig as a distraction, attempting to calm himself somehow. He could do this. He just needed something normal, a task he could complete to advance mentally past this. Hermione instantly, horrifically, came to mind, but he didn't know if she was even here yet. He was still very, very early, so he decided to not think about Dark witches and instead went to buy a couple of papers to read while on the train. He grabbed a _Quibbler_ and a _Daily Prophet_ without even looking at them, practically throwing the correct change at the bemused attendant.

His current plan was to grab Ron, find an empty set of seats, and then go hunting for Neville and..._her._ Harry figured he could be looking lost and confused in about 15 minutes and keep it up until the last second before the train left, which was when Weasleys were genetically programmed to show up. But he couldn't look _too_ lost or someone else might pick up on it and try to help. He had a few plans there, but he didn't want to employ them as they would involve lies and misdirection, possibly to his future friends.

Putting down Hedwig's cage and stuffing the papers into his trunk, he turned around and looked directly into the face of his doom, not three feet away. His wand snapped down his sleeve as his arm whipped up, just like he'd practiced; a silent cutting curse was in his mind, his next spell after that (a maximum strength shield) ready on his lips. He had almost started the wand movements before realizing he was about to murder a cute little frizzy-haired 11-year-old girl in the middle of a crowded train station.


	3. Chapter 3

**Harry Potter and the Witch Queen**  
by _TimeLoopedPowerGamer_

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter.

**Summary: ** Harry Potter never actually beat Voldemort, but rather fought him to a standstill while Europe burned around them. Finding himself an unwilling part of a dark ritual to send him back in time 20 years, he is surprised to see how Dumbledore reacts to proof of obvious child abuse (Harry's), how 11 year old super-genius and Witch Queen in training Hermione reacts to actually having a socially competent friend (Harry), and how much easier it is to shrug off the insults of munchkins when you're a grizzled war veteran.

But there is one huge problem: being sent back blew out his magic entirely. Just waving his wand knocked him out the first time he tried it. Can Hermione help him though his classes even with his magic almost unusable? Will Harry be able to find the secrets to actually killing the Dark Lord and saving his friends from a horrible future without blowing his cover, or even getting mistaken for the Dark Lord himself? Will Neville Longbottom get better grades than him?

**On Content: **Canon-Harry lives in a dark world. This one is darker, with evil turned up to 11 and actual adult situations: everyone is more magical and dangerous, witches and wizards are preternaturally attractive and seductive, people are meaner, magical creatures are horrifying and have back stories, Harry has worse mental issues, teenagers are hornier, villains actually torture and kill people before the last book, etc. Rated M for Maliciousness.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Harry froze, his wand steady as a rock, just as he'd been trained.

"Umm, that is a little rude you know," said perfectly normal Hermione Granger, eyebrows creasing together over her large brown eyes, "and whatever you're attempting to do, it didn't work and I don't think we're allowed to do any magic until we're actually on the train; as it says in _Hogwarts, A History,_ the train is actually an extra-territorial part of the Hogwarts grounds, sort of like a foreign embassy I assume." She wound down a little and grimaced again, frowned, then moved the point of his wand to one side with an outstretched finger, away from the center of her chest.

"That isn't at all safe, as you should know; it says in _Magical Safety for the Cautious Wizard_, which is a completely sexist title for an otherwise functional pamphlet, that wands should only be pointed with purpose at the duly designated targets of spells, as accidental magic can still happen through them or a spell might fire off wordlessly with mistaken intent or someone might even get poked in the eye, I guess, but it doesn't actually say that which is strange because it is something I'd think they'd mention in a book aimed at younger kids and it looks like everyone here is running around very haphazardly even now but I hope the halls at Hogwarts have a 'no running' rule as it isn't very safe to run with pointed objects."

The young witch wasn't even stopping for breath. Harry lowered a now shaking hand and re-slotted his wand in his makeshift sleeve holster, checking out of the corner of his eye that the almost-napping and obviously useless disguised Auror hadn't noticed anything.

Good gods, she was still talking, something about wand care and the proper instructions not being included in the student information packet. He didn't even remember _getting _an information packet. Harry looked her up and down, marveling at how young _she_ seemed. He'd known, intellectually, that it would be like this. But Dumbledore and Hagrid, when they'd been alive, weren't that much older looking than they were now. Hermione, Destroyer of Europe, was _so small and cute_. Well, Harry was actually shorter, but that wasn't his point of comparison.

"Here," he thought, "she's slowing down again."

"Uh, okay. I-I didn't know that. Err, sorry about before. I'm Harry Potter," he said, shakily. "Uh, g-glad to meet you," he stammered, sticking out his hand slowly. _She_ paused for a moment, then briefly and lightly took his hand. A quick smile seemed to Apparate on and off her face for an instant before the slightly disapproving mask slipped down again.

"You're in books," she accused him. He gulped guiltily, for some reason ready to confess all his sins which somehow now included literary ones. "I've read all kinds of things about you in modern wizarding history books which are-"

"Uh, umm, most of that isn't true, you know. I-I think people have a lot of guesses about what happened, but they weren't there," he gently interrupted.

Hermione's eyes grew wide and the mask slipped, leaving shock. "But it says very clearly in-" she started.

"Come on, we should find our seats before they're all gone," he said, interrupting again. Being as brave as he'd ever been, he pushed down his screaming horror and gently touched her hand.

Annoyance, thoughtfulness, then signs of something newly realized all flashed on her still-unmarred and open face. "You want to sit with me?" she asked, slowly, cautiously. "And, maybe talk about history books?" she ventured, almost disbelievingly.

"Sure," he said with a small smile (not too forced, he prayed), "I don't know much, though. I've been staying with my non-magical relatives since Voldemort-" he stopped, tried again, "since I was young. I've only read about the magical world for the month since my birthday." _Her_ face started to fall, he panicked. "But I'd love to talk to you about what you've read," he said quickly.

Mask gone, face bare to the world, eyes wide, _she_ looked at him with a strange, twisted, sad smile. He almost ran for it again. "I'd like that. Uh, my name is Hermione Granger. Sitting with you would be, I mean," she said, quietly. Her gaze dropped and she tensed, "I mean, if you really want to..."

"S-sure," he stammered again, grabbing his trunk, mind screaming, "Follow me, I'll lead the way."

* * *

_She_ was amazing. At 32, she had been _inhumanly_ intelligent (literally), but at 11 she was merely shockingly smart. Talking to her now, he knew he couldn't keep his cover working. He was panicking, sweating, stammering. _She _would see through it, not with a Seer's vision but with cold, brutal logic and collected observations. He'd already deviated from history and his plan and was directly drawing _her_ attention. He was dead, so dead, but at least she was reading now and not talking or looking at him. His hands shook as he tried to get out his history books, like she'd ordered him to, so they could compare collections. Thank gods, she was just reading for now.

"But those brown eyes wouldn't even need to see me to drill out my secrets," he thought, "She could do it over owl-post, or semaphore, or maybe atmospheric readings from a professional weather station in my general geographic area. Gods, maybe she can magically smell me lying, pretending to be someone else."

He finished getting out the few modern history books he'd purchased on his Gringotts and Diagon/Knockturn Alley run two weeks ago, knocking his newspapers to the floor in the process. He hurriedly snatched everything up and put it all on the seat next to him. Hermione sat directly across from him still reading. Everything was so quiet with just the two of them in the compartment. At least she wasn't giving him commands, commands he was too panicked to avoid automatically obeying.

He needed to pull it together and start acting normal, fast. He needed to be her friend, early and true, to avoid global catastrophe. Not a stammering, whiny little dishrag like he was acting now and had been last time. It was safe, she was safe, this compartment on the Hogwarts Express was safe. Harry started to slowly relax.

"See, it says _here_," she started up again, not seeing Harry flinching, "that you mysteriously disappeared after the attack on your parents' house, which was left in ruins, but you killed You-Know-Who with your enormous magical powers and were saved after, though from what you were saved it doesn't say, and placed with, quote, _an unknown protector, where you would be safe until ready to rejoin the __w__izarding world_, close quote."

"But _here_," she said, pointing an accusing finger to another book, which took the it quite well and remained stoically silent, "it says the house was only moderately damaged and the forces of Light, lead by Albus Dumbledore, who is our new Headmaster now, though he isn't new _at Hogwarts_, mind you," she said, starting to get out of breath, "just new to _us_ because we're just starting this year, simply _found_ you and placed you somewhere You-Know-Who's remaining forces couldn't get at you – silly that, it is in print, so why not just put down 'Voldemort' – and I guess that you being with muggles makes sense; you seem to be telling the truth about that, based on your clothes and no wizards knowing about where it was, though I could see that some muggles might know where it is because even though some of the better wards would screw up muggles they couldn't use those because that would break the Statutes, and I don't see why they didn't just keep you at Hogwarts since it is a castle and widely known as the best warded area in the country if not the world, so you simply being with muggles really doesn't make any sense."

"You have to help me here, Harry," she finished, starting to breath even heavier, continually flipping rapidly through the books, reading both at the same time while talking.

She was right, he thought: he had to help her out. It would risk his cover (that is, that he wasn't a time traveler from the future) but this behavior was even worse than she'd been with him and Ron, about a month from now. Hermione was desperate for answers, like finding them was the only way to keep him from running off and leaving her alone, and she was freaking out in that very Hermione-specific way about it. He had to do something now to head off the isolation and shunning that would happen (that had happened before during the next month) if she kept having trouble interacting with people.

When they'd been living in a tent in the ruins of London, just before the fall of Hogwarts, Hermione had explained some of her more...extreme behaviors. Up to that point, he'd had no idea what she was having to deal with. Talking it over with a younger her might help.

"Hermione," he started to ask, not really thinking it through, "how many concurrent trains of thought can you maintain at one time?" She froze, stared at him, then looked scared and started to breathe even faster.

"I mean, I'm sure it is, just, whatever is _normal_-" she started to babble.

"I think it's really neat, you know. You're reading two books at once, comparing them, and talking to me all at the same time. Are you thinking about what I'm asking right now as a separate thread of reasoning while also continuing to analyze what you remember from the history books against each other for errors?" he asked, throwing caution to the wind.

"Wha, I mean, yes, of course but it doesn't...I mean, it works well for simultaneous retrieval and analysis with social interactions running at a slower, uh, in a real-time...but I can't actually do multiple things at once, so holding the place in a line of thought...but at once? The brain doesn't work like that, it...task swapping...what I am saying, why are you...?" she seemed to run out of steam and just sat there, glancing up at Harry with a frightened look on her face, now almost hyperventilating.

Hermione's eyes shot between her trunk, the door, him, his wand sleeve, his trunk, the window, the distance between them, all in a flash, but she didn't move. Her books sat forgotten on her lap but she was careful not to damage the pages even though her hands were clenched into painfully tight-looking fists. Harry stayed very, very still, not wanting her to panic and try to run. Or try to curse him into an unnatural shape.

"Woah, calm down," Harry said gently, "You know your human biology: you're always breathing like that because you need the increased oxygen flow to your brain or something, right? Panicking will only make it worse. The Accidental Magic you did when you were younger, that thing that made you like this, it didn't magically provide for that, did it? Just upped the speed on some things a little and changed some minor chemical stuff and maybe added some kind of magical memory layer, sort of like those wizarding portraits? Perhaps some short-term memory enhancements for better buffering?"

Mix in a little future knowledge with some good excuses and he'd help her with this, Harry thought. He had to. As an adult, she had trusted him with details of her childhood brain-enhancing accident, but not until after she'd struggled with it her entire time at school, unable to really trust her friends, always feeling like a freak. Harry could certainly relate to that childhood fear.

She shook her head back and forth, starting to breathe a little shallower but now quivering a little. Her fight-or-flight response was scaring shitless the primal magical part of Harry's brain, the part that had evolved to _taste_ the magic in the air. The area certainly had a strange flavor now, the magical-lizard part of his brain screamed at him to run. Someone with her power using Accidental Magic right now could just flash-fry the entire compartment. So, even though she hadn't brought out her wand yet, he was still moving really slowly when he leaned forward to try and explain himself.

"I'm not going to try and hurt you, I swear. I've read a lot about how the human mind works is all, and I noticed some strange things that only a muggle who was looking for it would notice. Reading two books at once while analyzing their contents while talking to me, all at the same time, was a bit of a giveaway. I think you're safe with the wizarding world so long as you don't overdo it too much – they'll think you're just really smart," he said, trying out a little smile. It almost felt right, that time.

"I mean, I think you're smart too, Hermione," he quickly added, "but they'll just think you're like a young Dumbledore or something." Looking down at the floor of the compartment, Harry frantically tried to come up with a logical explanation for what he knew.

"Reading about magic," he started, trying to explain, "I wondered if people could permanently change themselves with spells. I mean, Voldemort was said to have done all sorts of Dark rituals to gain power. And there are curses and magical diseases that can change your body, like becoming a Werewolf. Werewolves are the way they are for life, so there's that. And there are potions that can change your vision, your appearance, or make you smarter, stronger, or luckier temporarily. So it would follow that doing it accidentally should be possible.

"Well, like, take me. I turned a teacher's hair green once, and that might have been permanent. I think some wizards must have shown up to fix it later, as she didn't seem to remember about it the next week. There would have to be some people around to fix kids doing stuff like that by accident. Oh, and I think I did something to my own hair, once – just look at how it won't lay flat and is this awkward length. If someone tries to cut it or comb it, it goes back to like this in less than a day, magically. So I know some stuff like that is possible."

Hermione was looking a lot calmer now, listening to his frantic explanation. "I saw you doing something not really possible and you couldn't have known any spells before getting your Hogwarts letter and going shopping for books, and I've read the class books and haven't seen a spell to do that, so whatever happened to you had to have been Accidental Magic. I don't think something like that is a reason to be afraid of you or hate you, especially if it was just an accident."

Her eyes narrowed, then widened. "You mean that?" she said slowly, "You're not going to give me to the magical scientists to dissect, like in E.T? Or, or try and kill me because you're afraid? Or tell everyone I'm different so they'll hate me like at my old school? I don't understand. Tell me, why are you saying these things?" She was almost crying now, eyes wet, body shaking.

"Holy. Shit," Harry thought, "Just talking to her about this is working? I thought I'd doomed this from the start, talking about her own future observations on what happened to her mind when she was 9. Oh gods, this could work. I want it to. It is honest, for some strange reason, so she won't pick up on any lies. Wait, no, now she might see me thinking about plotting, so give her the honest and truthful details immediately, as much as possible."

"I just, I wanted," Harry took a deep breath, "I want to tell you what I was thinking about because, I, uh, I want to be your friend. Not just a friend to whatever teacher you're imitating to provide a smooth social façade, but the _real_ you, Hermione. I'm not afraid of the real you. Sometimes, people want to know the real me, too, but I don't let them. Because I'm scared they won't like it. I'd understand if you didn't want to tell me about yourself. I bet your parents don't even know – more like they wouldn't understand." Thank the gods he was still smiling. He might survive this yet.

She sat quietly for a few minutes, just looking him over, then something changed in her face. "No, no. There is something wrong," she said, panic in her voice. "You know too much, not enough information for your initial assumptions or your conclusions. You can't know this much. Are you...have you been spying on me? Are you reading my mind, or, or can you see my past with magic?" Eyes now as large saucers, Hermione asked, no _demanded_ the answer to the most important question she'd ever had.

Shaking like a leaf, she asked just above a whisper, "You have to tell me: what are you?"

"I'm a wizard from the future," Harry said.

* * *

First, she gave him a quick quiz on her life, asking about things he really shouldn't be able to know but any good friend of hers should (a logical test given that the total number of Hermione-friends at this point was 0). Afterward, she sat quietly to hear a summary of his story about going back in time (not including details on how or who) and what had happened while he was shopping and got sick.

Five minutes later, he guessed she'd already worked out possible problems, paradox issues, threats, opportunities, and his new place in her life. But she hadn't said another word yet, just sat there staring at her books in her open trunk, thinking.

He noticed she had a lot of sci-fi books, which she'd looked at significantly while thinking about his revelation, in addition to the school books and other books on magic in her trunk. He remembered some of them and was able to figure out most of what she had thought about while tapping their spines.

She was a huge Trek fan, even at this point, and Trek (especially TNG) loved time travel stories – so that was one point of reference for her. She'd most likely read everything the local library had in the sci-fi section, too, so that was something else she was remembering. Maybe some stuff by theoretical physicists, nonfiction stuff that read like fiction. Harry only had a pop-culture version of most of the actual mechanics of time travel, and much of that from Hermione herself, but it should be enough at this point.

"Hermione," he said, responding to her unasked question, "there are no paradox problems that I am aware of, so it should be safe to tell you some of the things I know. As you heard, no return device is available, and a non-looping, multi-timeline situation is possible but unconfirmed. I haven't found any deviations from my original history from before I went back. That's why I've got all the history books. I checked multiple old and modern magical and muggle histories, but imperfect memory recall is a problem for me. Not so much for you, at least that's what you said when I asked once."

He grinned at her and she briefly smiled. "Oh, and the magic is painful, Dark, and came only with great sacrifice," he said, quickly cutting off another line of questioning. "I won't tell you how and I don't really know the details anyway, but you shouldn't ask or try to figure it out. It isn't worth it just to save your dead cat or something like that, only the greatest calamity or global existential threat could possibly make it worthwhile."

She seemed pleased now and continued to sit there in silence, smiling a little. Eventually she spoke again. "Here I thought that learning magic at a magic castle was going to be the most interesting part of this school year. This exceeds all expectations, Harry. Assuming that is your name. Well, might as well assume that part is the truth for now." She tilted her head to one side and continued to think out loud. Or at least a little of what she was thinking she said, possibly for his benefit.

"Now for possible threats and scenarios. Not some kind of magical kidnapper or the story wouldn't be required. Ah, and you're not here to kill me, like in Terminator?" she concluded, calmly. "At least, you haven't tried yet. No reason to tell me this stuff if that was the case either, so not a mission to kill me on a crowded train – that wouldn't make sense," she shared out loud, almost in a whisper but still smiling.

"You aren't a gender-changed or disguised me from the future. Hopefully not your own father – that would make you looking me up disturbing in a number of possible scenarios. No," she said, answering her own question out loud, "I'm not your mom or anything, but you are afraid of me. Of who I'll become in the future? Of what will happen to me?" she posited, the smile slipping.

Harry held up both hands. "Please, don't try to figure it out," he said. "I know you in the future, but it is complicated and it might hurt you a lot, emotionally, to know the details. I'll tell you what I know about upcoming dangers, but I can't just give you the details right here, right now. Most of the really awful stuff might not ever happen, especially with me here changing things. Just telling you this is a huge change. But if I gave you too much, too fast, you'd likely go off and change things yourself, in ways I can't predict.

"I'm sure you're smart enough to still pretend to be who you were planning on pretending to be at Hogwarts," he said (she blinked but quickly nodded after working it out), "even with the knowledge I've given you. But if I told you everything, you might not even try. And I'm here to save the people who are important to me, the people who died too young or in a long, drawn-out fight against a great evil, or, or because I failed them." He looked down at the floor and took a deep breath.

"And that evil – I swear, it wasn't you. You are one of the people in danger, a victim, one of the people I want to save." She once again smiled, a little sadly, then it was wiped from her face as if by magic.

"The evil is Voldemort," she whispered suddenly. "That is why it is you, the Boy-Who-Lived. He isn't dead. Oh no. No no." she said, monotone and lifeless.

"That's correct. I'm sorry, Hermione," he said.

"So he's the one who...he kills your friends, like he did your family before, and he killed your parents and your loved ones and everyone you know and now the entire country and maybe the Earth is in danger. Oh Harry, why?" she moaned heartrendingly, head in her hands, "Why is this happening? Why do you have to do this? Aren't there powerful witches and wizards? Why me? Can't Dumbledore handle this? Someone else?" She was begging him with questions to which she already knew the answers now, which wasn't a good sign.

Harry slowly moved to sit down beside her, keeping enough distance so she wouldn't freak out. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. This isn't what anyone wanted. But you, you _are_ one of the powerful witches. Dumbledore can't do it all alone, even if we could risk sharing the details with him. He has his own battles to fight, battles where the outcomes might change if I just up and tell him everything.

"There are certain rules to this sort of thing, I was told by a very smart witch in the future, and if I go and tell everyone immediately then I've shot my future knowledge all at once. I'll try to tell Dumbledore all the facts I know somehow, without letting him know how, but I can't just tell people what is coming because that is the best way to guarantee it won't happen at all."

He was trying to be reassuring but she had started freaking out anyway; both his presence next to her and the discussion itself were way outside her comfort zone. "Voldemort has a way of cheating death," he continued, "but now I know about it early and I'll tell you and you'll hide the secrets in a dozen brilliant places where they'll be found by other people even if we both die because I screw something up, so even then he wouldn't win. But we won't die. We'll save everyone. This time."

She slowly, carefully stacked the books from her lap over beside her on the seat, then jumped him and nearly crushed his ribs in a classic Hermione-hug. It was too much and now Harry was crying, too.

It was worth it, he knew that now. All he'd suffered since being captured and thrown back. All worth it even if just to get another Hermione-hug. She was so strong, he knew they could do this together. He didn't know why he'd blurted all that out, but it turned out fine in the end. Why had he ever doubted telling her was the right thing to do?

"Hey, this compartment free? And have either of you seen a toa-BLIMY!" they suddenly heard a shout from the doorway. Ron was standing there, Neville just behind him. They were both staring at the two of them hugging and crying all over themselves, confusion on their faces.

Harry was surprised to see Longbottom now, but maybe Neville had lost his toad early, or maybe had realized it early for some reason. The train wasn't even in motion yet. Ron still had his trunk in the corridor and seemed to have been looking for a place to put it. They were both obviously shocked.

"I'll just...maybe there is room somewhere else," Ron started, looking very uncomfortable.

Harry, still half-hugging a sobbing Hermione, motioned him in. "No, no, this one is free mate, we're just a little emotional right now," Harry said while wiping his eyes. "You're welcome to join us."

Still worried looking and only half-smiling, Ron edged into the compartment and started stowing his trunk. Taking a seat next to where Hermione had been sitting, he looked like he was constipated. "You both all right or what?" he blurted out.

"Yeah yeah, we're fine, just fine. She's just really sad about my parents and everything. This," Harry said, hugging Hermione back gently, causing her to squeak a little in surprise, "is Hermione Granger. I'm Harry Potter. Nice to meet you."

"WOAH!" Ron blurted out. Neville slipped and fell in the corridor where he'd been listening in and made a lot of noise banging into walls on his way down. "Uh, I'm Ron Weasley," he said politely, but was quickly distracted again from good manners. "Hey, you got the scar and everything?" he asked, tactlessly.

"A little rude mate, but yeah, sure," Harry said, lifting his hair up. "Pretty wicked looking, eh? But that's why Hermione here is so sad, thinking about how I got it. So go easy, huh?" he suggested. "Maybe we can drop it for now and help cheer her up?"

Ron looked chastised and excited, both at the same time – typical, really. "Right! Umm, sorry about that Hermione," he said to the still crying girl.

"No, it's okay," the girl genius replied, mind obviously spinning. "I was just surprised by how brave Harry is being about it all," she said, un-crushing Harry's torso and starting to wipe her eyes. This covered her complete scan of Ron, his clothes, his second or third-hand trunk, his hands, his shoes, likely location of his wand, and what he ate for dinner for all Harry knew. She also subtly turned her head to the side a little and scanned a slowly recovering Neville.

"Oh wow!" the last scion of Longbottom said from the corridor, slightly muffed sounding. "I've found him! He was just over here under this empty trolly." He stood up again holding a large toad and hovered awkwardly in the doorway for a second.

Harry waved him over. "Glad to hear it. You can stay if you like. Plenty of room here or you can just hang out for a while, your choice. As I think you heard, this is Hermione Granger and I'm Harry Potter."

He stuck out his hand and shook Ron's. Neville's pure-blood instincts and well-honed noble training kicked in at last. After juggling Trevor into his pocket, he shook Harry's hand in greeting, saying, "H-hi, I'm Neville Longbottom. Nice to meet you."

Harry grinned at his bravest friend. He'd not leave Neville's side this time, not leave him at Hogwarts to fight alone, to die alone, to break Hermione's heart forever. He'd arm the last Longbottom with all of the secret and future knowledge at his disposal and train him to be the strongest general in their army. Then they'd kill Voldemort and every Death Eater on the planet. And Hermione wouldn't even have to think about selling Ginny's soul and her own eyes to the Faery Queen to do it.

* * *

Early in the morning on September 1st, with the vast majority of students yet to arrive on the Hogwarts Express for the Sorting and first day of school, Albus Dumbledore met with the Heads of House. Spread around his slightly-cramped and distractingly blooping office, they looked as bored with the long meeting as he was as it headed into the second hour. But there was still one last item on the agenda in front of Albus: Harry Potter.

"Before everyone returns to readying their bodies, souls, and class plans for the return of our beloved students," he said, eyes twinkling, "there is one last thing I will mention; as you may know, young Harry Potter is joining us this year." Three of the four Professors gasped and looked pleased, if not surprised. The fourth's face shut entirely down in an instant.

Most of the staff had heard the rumors but hadn't had official confirmation. Harry Potter's location had been one of the most closely guarded secrets of the Magical world for almost ten years, so of course there had been some rumors. Also, Hagrid was involved at this point, so nothing was really secret about it anymore.

"Yes, very exciting I'm sure," Albus said. "However, there is something everyone should know about Mr. Potter's current...situation." Here Albus sighed deeply. "This is sensitive personal information that is being shared only with yourselves and Madam Pomfrey and, as per Ministry Educational Information Privacy rules, is to be used only for assisting in furthering Mr. Potter's educational success. It is not to go any further than this room."

Now the three showing any emotion at all were looking worried, trying to remember what kind of information those rules applied to usually. Filius' face had a look of dawning horror as Albus continued, "Mr. Potter has not had a good...family environment. Since his parents were killed, he has lived with his mother's sister, Petunia Dursley, her husband, and their son." It was quiet for a moment as everyone tried to remember the woman and which wizarding family that was. Filius said something that sounded like,"oh no," but the other two still seemed confused. Severus wasn't moving at all and had no expression.

"Yes, they are muggles," Albus said, grimly talking over the starts of confused muttering. Time to get to the worst of it. "They hate magic and were unfortunately not kind to Mr. Potter. Their son, Dudley, was encouraged to hit him and mock him with the assistance of neighborhood friends.

"Mr. Potter was forced to do virtually all the house and yard work, laboring every waking hour when not in school from a very young age. He was punished, physically and mentally, when he failed to complete a task to his guardian's satisfaction. Other times, punishments were inflicted when they noticed his accidental magical expressions, when he got better grades than their son, or for no reason other than his presence in their lives.

"His aunt and uncle struck him extremely hard on several occasions, sometimes giving him serious injuries. According to his aunt, they tried to, and here I quote her, 'beat the freakishness out of him', close quote, every time there was Accidental Magic in their presence. He was poorly feed most of the time and forced to use a small cupboard as a bedroom until just recently."

Even for lifetime educators who'd had to deal with students from harsh homes before, this was still unthinkably awful and the shock was visible on their faces. In the wizarding world, children were rare and precious, carefully protected by society in general and usually spoiled by a cloud of ancient great and even double-great-grand relatives. Most magical families had only one or two kids (Weasleys were the outlier here) and divorce was almost unheard of. Wizards and witches (especially witches, for some reason) lived a long, long time and extended relations (even in "small" families) sort of accumulated. Such abuse, especially remaining uncaught by doting great-grandaunts and grandmothers, was unheard of. It would have resulted in severe social and legal penalties for any wizarding household to have been run in such a manner.

Severus still hadn't moved or reacted at all yet and was staring stonily at the bookshelf over Albus' left shoulder. The Headmaster took a deep breath and tried to rally his spirit to finish what needed to be said.

"We discovered the physical abuse after Hagrid gave him his Hogwarts letter and took him to Diagon Alley on his birthday last month. While shopping, Mr. Potter collapsed at Ollivanders Wand Shop from exhaustion, both magical and physical. He was taken to the Hogwarts hospital wing where Madam Pomfrey examined him. After treatment, he was returned to his relative's house where certain...protections were arranged to ensure his safety."

Total horrified silence filled the room. Minerva was the first to recover.

"Headmaster! After discovering all that, how could you have left Mr. Potter with those horrible, horrible muggles?" she demanded shakily, her face chalk-white with shock. Albus grimaced, frowning deeper now.

"Ah yes. Certainly, removing Mr. Potter from such an environment would be the usual first step. Leaving him there is simply unthinkable in normal circumstances. However, there are serious issues with allowing him to enter the magical world right now. There would be a fight over his guardianship by complete strangers and his fame would make it impossible for him to live anything like normal life. My mere presence at his house, if uncovered by certain people, could cause untold danger for him."

Looking evasive, Albus danced around the next part carefully, unwilling to be specific. "There are also other...issues, ones magically entangled with the boy, that would endanger his very life if he were to leave his Aunt's house for any significant period of time outside the school year. That house is, unfortunately, the only place he is currently safe from these dangers and is where he must remain. He will not be defenseless, however, and powerful protections have been provided so he will be safe from his relatives and receive the education he deserves."

"This situation has already been taken care of, at least for the last month," he said. "These...people he has lived with have been magically constrained, required to treat him in a sane and humane manner by binding oaths and minor compulsion charms. In addition, strong magical monitoring was placed on Harry to show his location and current health status. I checked up on him in person two weeks ago and he was doing...better. He was much healthier and had been left entirely alone and was properly fed. None of the muggles had so much as spoken unkindly to him since my initial intervention.

"Mr. Potter has been spending most of his time alone in his, now normal and humane, bedroom reading ahead in his class books. A quick conversation with him showed that he was well along in at least the theory portions of all of his classes."

All four of the professors reacted this time, even Severus, all looking surprised. Most First Year students never cracked a book before the first day of class. Albus noticed and clarified. "Learning seems to be a great comfort to him, one of the few pleasures he had managed to hide from his horrible relatives," he said sadly.

"In addition to reading his class books and some simple story books I left with him, he has also taken to spending long hours in the local library, reading muggle books on various topics that interest him. Most of them are quite advanced adult books." Sharing this revelation seemed to cheer Albus and the others some, but there was more to tell.

"Now, for his future," he said. "During his holiday breaks, he will stay at Hogwarts. I believe having the teachers and, hopefully, some of the new friends he will soon make stay with him at the castle would be best for obvious reasons. If he loves the Hogwarts library like the muggle one he has been visiting this summer, he should be more than pleased to stay over the holidays. Maybe we can take that time to show him some of the holiday spirit and caring that has doubtless been missing in his life so far. Next summer, he will be assigned a caregiver who will stay in his house in the spare bedroom, watching over him and tutoring him in any classes he might be having issues with, muggle topics or magical."

Hoping to bring the appallingly painful meeting to a strong end, Albus Dumbledore allowed his face to show how serious he was about this. His eyes ceased any and all twinkling, his mouth didn't even hint at a kind little smile, and his hands were pressed white-knuckled against the top of his large desk. That he was, in fact, _deadly serious_ about this only helped.

"As you can see, this is all extremely painful and personal, and could affect Mr. Potter's ability to...relate to other children and fit in at Hogwarts. Please give him all the consideration and leeway possible when dealing with any conflicts that come up. Regardless of the teachers involved or his assigned Head of House, any punishments, at least for the first few weeks, will be assigned only through Minerva, working as Deputy Headmistress."

"Minnie," he said gently, speaking to the faint-looking elderly witch, "I intend to have you work closely with the Mind Healer we have contracted to help Mr. Potter." She bobbed her head once briefly in acknowledgment. Albus then sighed again, holding up a hand to forestall the growing agitation in three of his Heads of House.

"Also be aware that this Mind Healer, a Mrs. Andromeda Tonks, will be in the castle every afternoon for the first seven days of the school year, starting the day after tomorrow, and once a month following that. Mr. Potter will be meeting with her during those times for extended evaluation and assistance. This could interfere with some of his assignments and homework in this first week and allowances should and will be made. Mr. Potter will also be meeting with Madam Pomfrey tomorrow afternoon for a complete physical and magical exam. Classwork may again have to be scheduled around any treatment regimes she assigns. Whoever is Mr. Potter's Head of House should work with his class schedule to manage this best, working out the details directly with his teachers."

Sighing again, Albus rubbed the sides of his head with both hands, the headache he'd been fearing since he woke up this morning finally manifesting. His four Heads of House looked almost as bad. Minerva was shading her eyes with one hand, staring at her lap, shoulders set stiffly. Filius was sitting hunched and deflated in the extremely oversized (for him) chair, his eyes seeming to be looking at something far off only he could see. Pomona was barely able to avoid weeping openly at this point, her eyes were wet and heavy. Severus' face was now a gargoyle-like scowl, gray and stony, his hands attempting to strangle the arms of his chair.

"Preferential treatment of a single student isn't something to be done lightly," Albus said, speaking softly, "but it should be clear that when a student has a situation as unique and sensitive as Mr. Potter's, special considerations must be made. I have already personally failed Mr. Potter in a most grievous manner; the protections I meant for him failing in almost the worst way imaginable. The damage this has caused may be so severe that he will never forgive me once he learns the depths of that failure.

"Hogwarts, however, will not fail him. For the next seven years, we will be teaching and protecting Mr. Potter, healing the wounds he now has as best we can. Hopefully, he will one day be able to look back on his time at Hogwarts as one filled with memories of kind friends and wonderful experiences. It is our job, as his teachers and protectors, to make sure he has that chance. That is all."

Albus stood up and walked off without another word, disappearing through a secret door behind a bookshelf they'd not noticed opening silently. The Hogwarts Heads of House were left to collect themselves in silence (except for a quiet sniffle from Pomona), three of them leaving the Headmasters office without saying anything or even looking at each other.

Minutes after the others had left, Severus finally pried his fingernails out of the slightly damaged arms of his chair and stood up. Moving to Albus' desk, he carefully opened a few drawers looking for something. Finding the almost full bottle of Firewhiskey he'd been searching for, Severus Floo'd directly to his office from Albus' fireplace.

No one saw Severus Snape again that day until just before the Sorting Feast.

* * *

It had all started because he'd been trying to make friends, something he hadn't really known how to do the first time through his childhood. The train compartment had been quiet and awkward, like only four shy 11-year-olds can make it.

Hermione had tried mentioning that she'd already read all the way through this year's textbooks. Ron and Neville had simply looked a little ill at the idea of all that reading. So that conversational gambit went nowhere. Then he'd made the mistake of saying how he'd done the same. And that he had next year's, too. Hermione had gotten a predatory look in her eyes and he hadn't stood a chance.

Since that mistake, Hermione had seemed glued to his books (the second-year spells and potions textbooks from Harry's trunk, which she'd immediately commandeered) and Neville and Ron had barely said anything since they'd showed up in the compartment. Harry wanted to start them all interacting and talking more, hopefully bringing them together and into a team as soon as possible, but he didn't want to show off his impossibly adult-level skills or start Hermione on some rant on a strange subject, so he tried bringing up pets as a possible common point. Neville had been shooting furtive glances at the others and seemed to be the most shy, so Harry started there.

"Hey, Neville. I'm glad you found your toad. He's your one allowed Hogwarts pet, right? Had him a long time?" Harry asked the twitchy boy.

"W-wha?" Neville said, startled by Harry's question, almost dropping the toad in question. "Uh, y-yes, sorry. Umm, Trevor was a present from, uh, f-from my great-uncle when I got my Hogwarts letter this year," he stammered out, clearly embarrassed that everyone was now looking at him. No one else seemed to have anything to say about this and the compartment was awkwardly quiet again. Hermione simply returned to reading. Harry barely avoided grinding his teeth. Had he ever been this uncomfortably shy?

"How about the rest of you?" he asked, trying to jump-start things again. "I've got an owl, Hedwig. Got her last month when Hagrid delivered my Hogwarts letter." Harry got the birdcage down and set it on his lap, showing off the beautiful white-feathered owl to the others. Hermione perked up and actually set her book down, Ron looked very impressed and leaded over for a closer look, and Neville seemed a little intimidated by the large bird but was at least taking a peek.

"She's quite lovely, Harry. Snowy Owl?" Hermione asked.

"Yep, and she's great. Been very patient with me so far as I haven't had anyone to write to, really. Just wrote Hagrid once to think him for getting her for me. He doesn't seem to like writing letters, though, and I was going to see him soon anyway, so it was only the one letter. Anyway, Hedwig will sit with me when I read and has been a good friend so far," Harry said, struggling to sound like an excited little kid again.

Ron looked a little jealous as he pulled his rat out of his pocket. "This is my pet, Scabbers the rat." he muttered, sighing as he held out the scruffy looking old rat for everyone to see. Even though Harry had anticipated this, he still had to clamp-down hard to avoid drawing a wand and hexing the fucker on sight. Maybe this wasn't such a good topic, he thought, staring at his parent's betrayer.

"He's very nice." Neville said politely. Hermione looked unimpressed, frowning at the ugly creature. "Good for her," Harry thought wryly_._

"How long have you had him?" Neville asked unexpectedly.

"He's been in the family for, like, forever. He was my brother Percy's even before he went to Hogwarts but Percy got tired of him I guess since he got a new owl for becoming a prefect. Well, that's what he said but I think he really gave him to me so I'd have a pet for my first year," Ron replied.

Hermione started frowning more, her eyebrows drawing together at that information, most likely calculating the impossible age the rat had reached and also what all the breeds were and their major attributes, both at the same time.

Before she blew the entire thing wide open by accident with her tenacious intellect, Harry gently squeezed her arm, trying to hide the action from the others. She looked startled and glanced over at him, again about to say something. He barely shook his head no and she blinked several times and frowned at him, but didn't try to say anything. Yet.

"He isn't very useful and mostly just sleeps all the time. He doesn't seem to have any special powers or magical abilities or anything," Ron said sadly, putting the rat back in his pocket.

"Interesting, Ron. I didn't know there were so many types of pets in the magical world. I just saw the letter say owls, cats, and toads," Harry said, slightly stiffly, trying to make this horrible conversation work. "I wonder if that is to keep people from just getting any old thing, like snakes or spiders or something."

"Did you have to ask for special permission to take him?" Harry asked, never having heard how the rat was actually allowed at Hogwarts.

"Yeah, we had to get approval for Scabbers when Percy brought him. The Headmaster approved it, though Percy said Filch didn't like it and complained. The Headmaster said that since it was a trained pet and there were already less well behaved rats in the castle, it wouldn't be a problem," Ron said, grinning.

Hermione looked slightly disgusted and disapproving and glanced at Harry again, a questioning look in her eyes. Harry tried to distract her again, asking, "Hey Hermione, do you have a pet this year?"

"No, of course not," she said shortly, her teacher persona almost scoffing. "I thought," she said archly, starting into full Professor mode, "and my parents agreed, that a new pet was a big responsibility and as we didn't know how much classwork would be assigned in our first year or what kind of facilities would be available for the care of pets, we put it off until next year.

"I'd kind of like a cat, though. My mother is allergic to them, however, so I was thinking there might be a spell or a potion that would help her or maybe we could find or make a hypoallergenic magical cat but I've looked in all of the spells in _The Standard Book of Spells _and all the potions in _Magical Drafts and Potions _and couldn't find anything like that. All the magical creatures I've been able to find are huge and covered in horns or something. Maybe Harry has a book that has more normal, acceptable pets."

Glancing again at Harry and seeing his slightly worried looking face, she realized her fellow students all had pets already and reviewed what she'd said in her head again. Looking slightly panicked, she quickly tried to correct the mistake.

"Your pets don't seem to be very large, though," she said apologetically to Ron and Neville, "so proper care shouldn't be too hard. And Harry, according to _Hogwarts, A History_, the castle has an owlery which could take care of your owl if it was too much trouble on your own, so it doesn't look like proper pet care should adversely affect any of your studies."

She looked pleased with herself for avoiding the unintentional insult while providing useful information. Ron and Neville looked slightly stunned but both slowly nodded at her.

"Well, at least she's a little better so far than last time," Harry thought, smiling weakly at his manic, walking reference library of a friend.

"Sorry, Hermione, I can't really help you with the allergy thing but you're free to check my books." Here Hermione got a wild look in her eyes and he hurried to the his next point lest his trunk instantly be ravaged by her.

"Do either of you know any spells like that that work on pets?" Harry asked Ron and Neville. "I've only known about magic for the last month, so I've never really seen any spells," Harry added, only sort-of lying.

Hermione nodded at him, having had similar issues, but Ron and Neville were stunned. "W-wait, h-hold on!" Neville stammered in shock. "A-are you telling me that _Harry Potter_ has never seen magic? D-didn't you grow up seeing witches and wizards all the time?"

"Shit," Harry thought, "I didn't actually want to discuss this yet."

"Well, uhh, I was raised by non-magical people. My aunt and uncle. They know about magic but don't like to talk about it and don't like it. I mean, they _really_ don't like it," he said, lamely. "They aren't very nice people and didn't even tell me my parents were magical, how they died, or anything about the wizarding world," he finished, not even having to pretend to act sad, hanging his head just a little.

Neville just sat there open-mouthed. "Bloody hell," Ron muttered, staring at Harry with a shocked look and growing frown, his previous jealousy over pets completely forgotten.

"Language!" Hermione gasped, shooting Ron a shocked look. She then took Harry's hand in both of hers and looked him in the eyes, smiling gently, her public persona dropping away like a window suddenly opening.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," she said, obviously meaning it. "I don't know much about magic either; my parents also aren't magical and I've only known I'm even a witch for a little while. But maybe Ron and Neville will be our friends and show us some of the stuff we don't know about the magical world."

She. Was. A genius. He could hug her. He most likely would in a few seconds.

Harry had no idea where she got the idea for that speech (some teacher she'd known?) but it was perfect. He smiled a little at her and she barely nodded at him – yeah, she knew what she was doing and had figured out he was trying to get re-acquainted with his old friends.

"Yeah, yeah! Of course, mate!" Ron almost shouted, looking increasingly excited. Neville seemed really upset but nodded vigorously in agreement.

"R-right, we'll be your friends and help you with stuff in the magical world," Neville said quietly.

"Hey, wait!" Ron shouted, "I know a spell. Let's see..." He grabbed a sock that had fallen out of his sloppily packed trunk and held it up. Pointing his wand at it, he said another nonsense rhyme, like the first time he'd met Ron and he'd tried to change his rat yellow, this time targeted at the sock. The sock instantly lit on fire.

"Ron!" Hermione yelled at him. "That wasn't even close to the Color Change Charm!"

Ron and Neville were too busy stomping out the sock fire to respond. Once it was out and Neville and Ron had sat down, Hermione looked ready to rip into them again, so Harry jumped in first.

"Hey, it didn't work but it was still kind of cool. I think that one is kind of complicated, actually. Maybe something easier? There was one I wanted to try that should be safe," he said, snapping his wand out of his sleeve holster and readying it. Focusing and trying to make it look like it took him some effort, he pointed his wand at the slightly blackened sock and cast the simple Levitation charm.

The moment the final syllable of "levi-O-sa" left his mouth, the sock twitched once violently and he almost threw up all over the floor. His vision lost all color, his grip on his wand slipped, and he fell to the floor, hard. His head was ringing with a high-pitched tone and it felt like Harry's entire body had been kicked repeatedly – he was barely holding onto his breakfast. Hermione was yelling something and Ron and Neville were trying to help him up but he didn't have enough strength to even lift his head.

Ron and Neville were being pushed back now as someone took their place at his side. Small hands fluttered in panic on his throat, face, wrist, back, and arm – Hermione's, he thought – then gripped him firmly and gently pulled him over onto his side, also rearranging his arms and legs in what Harry blearily recognized as a first-aid safety position to prevent choking.

Well, of course Hermione would know first-aid – it was in books, after all. He didn't think he was going to throw up but she'd obviously anticipated that as a possibility given what he'd told her so far about his journey back in time and subsequent unpleasant redecorating of an ancient artificer's shop floor.

It was clear now that something had gone very, very wrong with his magic. It felt like when he'd passed out in Ollivanders but he wasn't actually throwing up or losing consciousness yet. Harry had a sinking feeling this was extremely bad. Maybe getting thrown back in time by Darkest Blood Magic and sacrificial rituals had side-effects that Future Hermione, Witch Queen of Darkness, hadn't realized. Not being able to shove that in the Idiot Queen's face sort of blunted the appeal of showing up her plans, though, and there was no way he'd take it out on poor, cutely-panicking, present-day Hermione.

After what seemed like hours but must have been only a few minutes, Harry's head finally started to clear and some small amount of strength returned to his body. It still felt like someone had run him through the belly with a sword after beating him about the head and arms for a day, but at least he could sit up on his own.

Hermione was still at his side, worry clear in her large brown eyes. Ron and Neville looked very freaked out and were fidgeting on their seats, staring at him.

"Are you feeling better now, Harry? Do I need to get an adult?" Hermione asked.

"No, no that's okay Hermione. I'm feeling much improved now," he lied. Her eyes narrowed as she obviously saw right through him, but she didn't follow up yet, maybe because the other boys weren't in on his secrets and were in hearing range still.

He hadn't figured out yet why this time Hermione seemed so much more compliant. Harry was sure that the Hermione he knew before would already have gone to get someone, his arguments totally ignored, and tried to badger him with questions about why he collapsed as they carted him off. But it wasn't a totally different person: Hermione still seemed ready to burst with questions, just more restrained for some reason. But Harry realized that he'd have to figure out a way to talk to her soon or she'd explode before they had a chance to talk in the common room later tonight.

Crawling back to his seat with her help, he had to move his textbooks and notepad out of the way. Then inspirations struck. After reassuring Ron and Neville that he'd just felt suddenly sick, it had happened before, and he'd seen a Healer about it and everything, he waited to put his plan into play. Ron and Neville seemed skeptical but lost interest soon and went back to playing some card game.

Grabbing a random textbook and opening it as camouflage, he placed his notepad on his lap on his right side, next to Hermione. Flipping to a fresh page, he started writing a fake letter to her.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Hey! Pay attention! I need to talk to you about this. Please get your notebook and play along, pretending to make notes from your textbook to respond._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry Potter, Sick Time Traveler_

Slightly tipping the page toward her while pretending to be suddenly interested in some line in his book, he gently nudged her leg without looking at her. He knew she'd seen the message when she moved her paper to her lap, also tilted towards him.

_Harry! What happened?_

He quickly wrote his reply:

_Something like when I first got matched to my wand while I was shopping._

She scribbled back:

_Oh no! You should see a healer immediately!_

Quickly reacting, he wrote:

_It is OK Hermione, I'll see one when we get to the castle. I'm not suddenly worse. I think it was my magic failing for some reason._

She gasped and he quickly glanced at her. Hermione's eyes were huge and she almost said something, before she noticed him shaking his head no. Ron and Neville hadn't noticed what they were doing yet and seemed happy playing cards quietly (well, except for the explosions) on the other side of the compartment. Hermione was writing something like crazy on her paper.

_Harry, I think going back in time took more out of you than you think. If it was going to use up several adult magical's power, maybe it took all of child-you's power, too, reaching into the past to complete the spell? What if you're permanently damaged by this? What if you can't do magic or fight Voldemort because of this and we are all doomed and you're going to die and I'm going to die and there's nothing-_

Harry put a gentle hand on her elbow, interrupting the worried flow of words she was writing. It looked like she wanted to cry again. He started writing again, trying to reassure her.

_It will be OK, we will figure this out together. I'll see Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing tonight or tomorrow and see what she can do. With your help, I know we can do this._

She was calmer now, but still looked really worried. Maybe he could distract her with another issue.

_Hermione, the sorting into Houses will be tonight. We need to end up in Gryffindor together with Ron and Neville so we'll be able to spend time together in the common room. It will make everything easier in the years to come._

_The Sorting is done by a magical item. You put it on and it puts you in a House. I think you can ask for a House, though, so we need to convince Ron and Neville to tell it where they want to go. But we shouldn't tell them about the thing, itself, because it is a secret._

Hermione read what he'd written but seemed confused at the end.

_Harry, what is the magical item?_

He simply wrote:

_It is a piece of clothing._

She started looking worried now.

_Exactly WHAT is it? What kind of clothing?_

He replied:

_It is a thing, you know, that you wear. It has a round bit and you put it on. And-_

Harry suddenly realized what was wrong. He couldn't tell her about it for some reason. Every time he tried to write down what, exactly, the Hat was, he ended up saying something different. Now he was worried, too. Hermione was already writing more.

_Harry, I bet it casts a spell on you so you can't tell anyone about it! Makes sense to me. Many powerful magical items protect themselves somehow that so people can't come up with ways to defend against them._

He scribbled back:

_No, that doesn't make sense Hermione. We used to talk about the...thing all the time at Hogwarts._

Nibbling on her quill, Hermione paused in thought for almost a minute, then started writing again.

_I bet it lets you talk to other people who have had the same spell cast on THEM. That way, most people who've gone to Hogwarts can talk about it to each other and they'll explain it away as adhering to the tradition if they find themselves unwilling to talk to other adults or kids who haven't gone to Hogwarts about whatever it is._

Realization rocked Harry. He hadn't even figured that out after years at school last time; this was totally new information and all because he'd brought Hermione into his confidence. Harry was starting to get a good feeling about this. Then it all came crashing down again.

_Hermione, if it is more complicated a magical item than I thought, will it know I've traveled through time? Will it know I've been sorted before? What if it says something to Dumbledore or just says something out loud? Everyone will be there tonight! I didn't think about this before, I thought it would just sort me into Gryffindor again!_

She was rapidly writing a reply before he'd even finished:

_No, wait Harry, it can't do anything that might reveal people's secrets, otherwise no one would agree to use it. I'm sure it'll be fine. Lots of rich kids from powerful families get sent to Hogwarts, and there is no way anyone would want their kid's mind used as blackmail or something like that later in life. It has to have protections against giving up your secrets._

Hermione looked so sure of herself that Harry was almost reassured by her reasoning, but he couldn't seem to convince himself that she was right. Now he was dreading tonight's Sorting and the disaster that might follow.

Before he even started to formulate a plan, the compartment door was thrown open and a thin, smirking, white-haired boy walked in, bookended by two other huge boys. Glancing at Harry's forehead, the Aristocratic one smiled.

"Ah, the rumors were true: the famous Harry Potter _is_ on the train," Draco smarmed, frowning as he looked around the compartment at the other students.

"You have attracted an assortment of useless hangers-on already, it seems." Turning back to Harry, he offered his hand, saying, "My name is Draco Malfoy. You need to have someone to help you make the right kind of friends. Useful, powerful, influential friends. Someone like me."

* * *

It was a long, drawn out fight against Voldemort. The Ministry had fallen but Hogwarts still stood, a beacon of hope to the forces of the Light. Most of their friends were in their sixth or seventh years and they were already making plans on how to form their own, new-wave Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore's death had almost shattered the old Order, and it was full of adults who'd tried to keep them out of trouble and out of the inner circle for years. No one really trusted them to let the young people take over important roles. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had big plans for the future, especially once Neville and Luna joined them.

Currently, though, they were hiding in the smoking remains of London, long after the Dementors had left of course, trying to stay one step ahead of Voldemort's hired Hit Wizards.

Sitting in the flickering campfire, Harry sulked. Half of his best friends were here. The war was going horribly. London was trashed. And he couldn't sleep.

They were camping out with some muggle survivors in a Red Cross aid camp, all the better to blend in. Nice people, something about being suddenly homeless and jobless in a "terrorist" created wasteland really brought people together.

Everyone else had gone to sleep long ago and all the wards around them that Hermione had put up made better guards than him, but he still couldn't sleep. Just when he thought he'd try anyway, just to be more comfortable lying down if nothing else, Hermione plopped down beside him.

"Stop pouting, Potter. Makes you look like a little Firstie again," she said, smirking at him. He rolled his eyes at her and tried a jab in response.

"Yeah, well, I didn't look in the mirror much first year. Except for that one time, you know." Hermione snorted and started laughing, the laughs turning into a cough. Whatever it was, she didn't have it too bad. It was something magical going around, got in the lungs, cleared up after a few potions and some rest. Not like the killer plagues some of the Death Eaters had tried to use that one time. God, that had been a nightmare. Looking back at Hermione, he noticed it was her turn to be lost in thought. He had a good idea what she was thinking about.

Hermione didn't think anyone knew what she'd been up to last year, but Neville's cherry-red face every time they returned from "studying" in the "library" told the story clearly enough. Some weekends, they "studied" so long and hard, Neville didn't actually make it into his bed all weekend, leaving his snickering roommates all the clues they needed.

Harry was happy for them, really. Sure, he'd thought about Hermione that way for about 15 minutes fifth year, maybe, but she was obviously not interested. And anyway, Neville was a solid chap, totally perfect and dependable for Hermione. Maybe she'd bring him out of his shell a little. Maybe he'd calm her down some.

"Penny for your thoughts, Hermione," he said, poking her in the arm. She batted him away and sighed.

"Wouldn't be worth it, would it, what with the failure of the British Pound. Got any of those new Euros?" she asked, wryly.

"Whatever. Talk or I shall taunt you yet again, Herms." Glaring at his offensively bad shortening of her name, she sighed again and gave up.

"I was just thinking about how you and Ron were the first friends I ever had, okay?" she said, visibly annoyed with him.

"Sure, Hogwarts was wild that year. And the girls we were sorted into Gryff with were total pillocks. Present company excluded," he quickly added with a cheeky smile.

"I am trying to be at least slightly emotionally honest, you wanker," she shot back, but without any real heat behind her scolding. "Girl trying to spill out her heart and deepest, innermost feelings here, so just shut it and consider yourself lucky to be witnessing such a rare and beautiful event. Take notes, there will be a test later."

Harry looked at her with both eyebrows trying to escape his forehead before blowing out a sharp breath. Sitting back he said, "Well, this oughta be good."

"Innermost. Feelings. Potter," she growled at him through clenched teeth. He held up his hands in surrender. She whispered something that sounded like "fuckhead" but relaxed a little.

"It's like this, Harry. You two were literally my first friends, ever. I was...well, compared to what you had to put up with, it seems a little whiny. But I was really badly bullied basically my entire school career. Malfoy and his goons were only the most recent and visible. It started long before Hogwarts, though, and that was honestly not as bad as before. Did you know I was taking advanced secondary level classes when I got my letter?" Harry shook his head, a little confused.

"Yeah," she said straight-faced, "turns out, I'm really smart."

"Really?" Harry replied, similarly.

"I've got documents proving it," she deadpanned back. Shaking her head, she continued.

"I skipped grades three times, was in all kinds of accelerated learning and advanced placement programs. They really didn't know what to do with me. My parents didn't like how I didn't have any friends and wouldn't push me into University yet, but I might have been able to do that if they'd let me. Maybe it would have worked out better, who knows. That was just when I got my Hogwarts letter and everything changed. Or at least most of it.

"Before, I was...not popular with the teachers. This was even before my...err, brain-thingie." She looked embarrassed to be talking about it again, but Harry just nodded his head and rolled his hand, indicating she should continue.

"They didn't like being corrected by a weedy little know-it-all girl when they were wrong and they fought back with their students, mostly by showing them it was okay to pick on me. Then it escalated.

"I was grabbed by older students and locked in some outbuildings overnight, several times. First time, I was found the next morning, crying and scared out of my mind, hours after my parents started a full hue and cry when I didn't come home. The next time, they looked there first and I was only terrified for a few hours. Same thing after that, but still really exhausting and scary. I was also tricked into empty classrooms and locked in so I'd miss my classes – that happened more than once. My locker was vandalized over and over, people stole my stuff, tried to poison my food once, even. I think that bitch might have been genuinely psycho, though. Never saw her again after she got suspended.

"Anyhow, not much was done to the students they caught and I ended up changing schools multiple times because my parents couldn't get them to protect me. At the last one, some ultra-exclusive London private school (I honestly don't care to remember the name as I was only there a couple of months) I was at least protected physically. Everyone there was scared to death by the fancy security system and their no-tolerance policy for bullying. Just meant it went underground, though. Snide comments in the halls when no one can hear, glares and taunting when teachers and security cameras weren't around. Pushing and some genuinely gross "pranks" in the girls bathroom. Actually got chased home by a mob of teenagers once, which is saying something given how little time they had to hate me. It was a lot like Hogwarts, really, now that I think about it."

She got a far-off look again, this time with a frown on her face. Harry felt sick. He'd never known about this. The only way that could have been worse was if they'd had wands. He was worried about what came next. Sure enough, she relentlessly continued.

"So, I did some research at Hogwarts my fourth year: turns out mundane kids can sense magic a bit, not much really, and they absolutely hate and fear it at an instinctual level. The stronger the young magical, the stronger their reaction. Think you might have had some of that, too, but you never talked much about your schooling before Hogwarts.

"Things didn't have a chance to get too bad at Hogwarts before people were mostly too scared to pick on me. Because of you and, to some extent, Ron and his brothers. But it was still not great. Showing off in class the first few weeks certainly didn't make me any friends. Did you ever notice when I stopped that, just after the Triwizard fiasco kicked off? Yeah, after vocally supporting your claims not to have entered, every time I offered an answer in class the other girls would glare at me. Later, I'd find something missing from my book bag or magical paint on my bed or something. I quieted down real quick after that.

"But I was talking about the first year. I didn't spend just that one Halloween night crying in the bathroom, you know. My roommates hated me at first. Later, they just sort of tolerated and feared me. Some of the older girls, mostly not the Gryffs though I think one got me once, they would jinx me in the bathroom when they thought they could get away with it. Had to visit the hospital wing more than you that year, I bet. Only time I could get to myself, to let myself cry in safety, was in some lonely bathroom that no one used. You know how I am, if I can't emotionally dump on someone. It just builds up in my whatsit, magical secondary emotive memory or whatever. More than a little Myrtle in me, that was for sure."

Hermione patted Harry's arm, pretending to ignore his clenched jaw and shaking fists. "It's all fine now, Harry. I know people who care for me and are true friends. You and Ron are okay too, I guess," she said, smiling cattily at him. Frowning at Harry's lack of reaction, she sighed and jumped him, knocking over his coffee mug and sending him crashing to the ground. Wrapping her arms around him in a crushing hug, the young woman giggled like a little girl.

"Harry, cheer up. We'll get through this mess together and then everything will be good and bright again." She grinned a little nervously, but it still helped.

He'd cheered up at the time, but had still noticed that her bright smile didn't reach all the way to her eyes. It never did, really, not after three months later when Hogwarts fell and she heard about Neville.

Oh, she still smiled sometimes, later on. Like when she'd found an especially nasty curse, or got a chance to use that curse on someone with the Dark Mark, or had just used that curse on someone and their smoking corpse was at her feet. But her eyes didn't smile. Ron had tried to help her, even after she'd started pushing everyone away. It had taken almost three years before he and Luna had called it quits – just after the wedding in fact. Hermione had decided not to attend, even though they'd all tried to get her to come.

Ron had lasted longer than anyone, and he'd been there when Voldemort finally caught up with her. It was Ron who had caught that Avada Kedavra for her, saving her life but killing the last piece of her heart left alive. An angry and grieving Ginny had found her after that, attacked her, and eventually become her new best friend, the two massively unhappy women finding common ground in revenge. Then, a few years later, Ginny became her wife. He hadn't been invited to the wedding. He hoped Hermione had managed to smile during it, all the way to her eyes.

The next time Harry saw Hermione, she didn't _have_ eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Harry Potter and the Witch Queen**  
by _TimeLoopedPowerGamer_

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter.

**Summary: ** Harry Potter never actually beat Voldemort, but rather fought him to a standstill while Europe burned around them. Finding himself an unwilling part of a dark ritual to send him back in time 20 years, he is surprised to see how Dumbledore reacts to proof of obvious child abuse (Harry's), how 11 year old super-genius and Witch Queen in training Hermione reacts to actually having a socially competent friend (Harry), and how much easier it is to shrug off the insults of munchkins when you're a grizzled war veteran.

But there is one huge problem: being sent back blew out his magic entirely. Just waving his wand knocked him out the first time he tried it. Can Hermione help him though his classes even with his magic almost unusable? Will Harry be able to find the secrets to actually killing the Dark Lord and saving his friends from a horrible future without blowing his cover, or even getting mistaken for the Dark Lord himself? Will Neville Longbottom get better grades than him?

**On Content: **Canon-Harry lives in a dark world. This one is darker, with evil turned up to 11 and actual adult situations: everyone is more magical and dangerous, witches and wizards are preternaturally attractive and seductive, people are meaner, magical creatures are horrifying and have back stories, Harry has worse mental issues, teenagers are hornier, villains actually torture and kill people before the last book, etc. Rated M for Maliciousness.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

The blond ponce had just barged into the compartment, exactly how Harry had remembered. At least some things didn't change.

Glancing around, Harry saw Ron getting ready to start shouting and Neville trying to hide by squirming deeper into his seat. Hermione was still pretending to read and had covered up both of their notepads, which Harry realized were now absolutely _covered_ in horribly incriminating information.

Looking at Draco, it didn't seem like he'd noticed anything on them and the angle was wrong, so maybe they were safe for now. He'd have to work out a way to burn them or something before they got to the castle. Maybe get Hermione to work a fire spell; _Incendio _was a First Year spell and she'd already read the book, shouldn't be an issue. Get a bin and burn them in the bathroom or something. He'd have to ask Hermione about it after Draco left.

Blinking slowly, Harry realized that he'd left Draco with his hand hanging out for almost a minute now, just staring blankly at, or rather _through,_ the increasingly red-faced boy. Harry had been thinking about other things and had just sat there with a blank look on his face this whole time. Draco's hand dropped to his side at last, both hands now clenched into fists.

"Well, that wasn't what I meant to do. But why not?" Harry thought, continuing to stare at a point slightly behind Draco's head. "I'm an adult this time – no reason to let this little shite try to intimidate me."

After a few more seconds, Draco cracked. "What's wrong with you, Potter? Are you totally mental or being intentionally insulting? How dare you sit there with blood traitors and mudbloods ignoring me, Draco Malfoy?" he demanded, red-faced and furious. Ron growled at this but still didn't say anything, also looking to see what Harry was doing. Draco's goons were just standing there, confused. Harry wasn't fighting back or even saying anything at all and they weren't trained on how to deal with this passive reaction.

Harry sat perfectly relaxed, still expressionless, still staring through the white-haired boy. Draco was having a very hard time working out what to do. "I don't have to put up with this, Potter. My father is a very important person and I will not be insulted and ignored! He will hear of this!" he said, stomping back into the passageway and slamming the compartment door closed.

"Woah," Ron whispered, "that was seriously cold, Harry. Awesome." The redhead's eyebrows were raised all the way and he looked at Harry like he was a strange new type of sandwich. Harry shrugged but still smiled a little.

"Not nice," Hermione scolded him with her Professor voice. "But, he was also being mean. That mud-word he used was _extremely_ rude, I assume?" she asked, looking at Ron and Neville.

Neville looked really uncomfortable but didn't say anything, his face bright-red. Ron clenched his jaw but responded, glaring at his shoes. "Yeah, it's basically saying what it sounds like: your blood is bad. Stupid idiots think because your parents are muggles, they aren't much better than animals and neither are their kids. You're a witch, Hermione, simple as that. The rest doesn't matter, at least to people who aren't total gits."

Her Professor facade cracked a little, a tiny smile touched her lips and her eyes shined, then Hermione swallowed reflexively and put her cover persona back in place firmly.

"Thank you Ron, that was very informative," she said archly. Harry was still trying to stay out of it but couldn't help grinning. Neville looked relieved and Ron embarrassed but everyone was finally able to relax a bit.

Getting a ton of snacks from the cart lady later improved everyone's mood (well, not that much Hermione's – her parents being dentists had warped her irreversibly) and they spent a few minutes chatting about their families. As Harry knew now that simple charms kept magicals teeth perfect for life (and because he didn't care) he stuffed his face while they talked.

Mostly Ron and Hermione did the talking as Harry wouldn't say anything about the Dursleys except that they hated magic and were awful and Neville only talked about his Gran and didn't seem to want to bring up what Harry already knew about his parents. No one asked Harry about his parents, for obvious reasons. After a bit, Harry tried to change topics.

"Hey, Ron? Which House are you going to be in?" he asked the redhead.

"Gryffindor, of course!" Ron said. "All my brothers went there and it's a family tradition I guess. You'll end up there too, I'm sure," he said, not sounding entirely convinced. Harry frowned briefly, wondering if he and Hermione were giving off Ravenclaw vibes or something.

"Yeah, I think so," Harry said. "I heard...I heard my mom and dad were in Gryffindor. So I think that's where I want to go."

"This is it," he thought, feeding them the information to try and ensure his plan worked.

"I heard you can ask to go into a specific House when you're sorted," he said, casually, "and they usually let you. You have to be firm about it, because they might try to talk you into going somewhere else. I was just thinking it would be really great if we all ended up in the same House." All three of the others perked up at that, then looked thoughtful, still munching on snacks.

Later during the unending train ride, Neville and Ron were bravely trying to play another game of Exploding Snap while half-asleep when Harry once again nudged Hermione and showed her his notepad. He needed to make sure of this.

_Hey, Hermione!_

She quickly grabbed her notepad and wrote back:

_Yes Harry?_

He scribbled quickly and she read as he went:

_I know you've read about the houses and I wanted to make sure you didn't think Ravenclaw was a better one. I need you near me, especially with this strange problem I'm having with my magic. If you were in another House, we'd only be able to meet in the library or in free time on the weekends and there would be a good chance we wouldn't be in the same classes._

Mind visibly racing, Hermione responded:

_Well, I had thought about Ravenclaw. I hear they appreciate knowledge and learning more than the other Houses. Dumbledore was in Gryffindor, though, and he is a great wizard. I'd like to be like him some day._

Here, Hermione bit her lower lip and looked hesitant before continuing.

_But most of all, I want to be in the same House as you, Harry. And I meant what I said. I do want to be your friend. I haven't had any friends before and you are the most interesting person I've ever met. Not like other kids my age._

Glaring briefly at Neville and especially Ron, she kept writing.

_Which is something I was wandering about. Tell me, how old are you, really? What year were you in?_

"Shit," Harry thought, "I hoped this wouldn't come up until later." He didn't want to discuss it but felt he had to now that she'd asked.

_It is complicated. My sixth year was screwed up and I never really finished my last year of school, but I fought Voldemort for 15 years after that. I was just past my 31st birthday when I was sent back._

Hermione's eyes grew wide and she started to stare at him but quickly ducked her head when he looked over at her. She'd abandoned the notepad and was twisting her hands in her skirt, hiding her face behind her hair.

Looking over at the others, Harry saw both Neville and Ron almost nodding off, so he took a risk and reached over to gently shake her shoulder. She flinched a little but looked up again with scared eyes. He motioned to the door with his head then got up and quietly left the compartment. Ron and Neville didn't seem to notice. He waited in the hall until Hermione finally joined him, almost a minute later.

Glancing up and down the corridor, Harry checked to see if they were alone. With the noise of the train and the doors to all the other compartments closed, they should be private enough for a short conversation. Distracted for a second, Harry noticed again that Hermione was actually a little taller than he was at this age, something he'd almost forgotten. Still looking guiltily at the floor, she stood against the door to their compartment like she really didn't want to be there.

"Okay, what is it Hermione, what's wrong?" he asked, startling her. She mumbled something he couldn't her over the train. He took her arm and pull her away from the door, further down the corridor.

"This should be fine, no one will hear us. What's the matter?" he asked.

"I didn't know," she whispered.

"Know what?"

"That you were actually an adult. I thought you were almost our age, like 15 or 16 maybe. That you'd gone back in time while you were at school," she whined.

"I don't understand, how does that matter?"

She looked at him like he was crazy. "You've an _adult_, Har- Mr. Potter. I'm just a kid and here I am acting like you're my age. If you were only a little older than me, that might work. But you're as old as teachers, as my _parents_. I can't believe I acted that way around you, Mr. Potter," she said, burying her face in her hands. "You must think I'm awful and disrespectful and a silly little girl now."

Finally understanding what was going on, Harry sighed deeply. "Hermione, no. Of course I don't think that. Look," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder, "I knew you, back in my time, since this day, today." He frowned, realizing that didn't make any sense, and tried again.

"That was almost total twaddle, sorry. We were the same age. I went to Hogwarts with you. I grew up with you. I was a good friend of yours and I hope to be again. I didn't think of you like that before and I certainly don't now."

She looked up at him again, hope in her shining eyes. Smiling reassuringly, he gently squeezed her shoulder. "My first time at Hogwarts, I was a scared little kid and my life had been rather horrible up to that point. Now I have more...life experience than that young boy did. But I'm still excited to be going to Hogwarts, even though I know most of the lessons through Sixth Year – well, at least for my electives. I wasn't a model student back then, so I'm sure there are many more things for me to learn. But that isn't the real reason I'm looking forward to going to school again. What I'm really looking forward to at Hogwarts is a chance to see old friends and get to know them all over again."

She was still shaking a little but wasn't about to start crying now. He could see she was going to give him a ribs-crushing hug at any moment, so he simply gave in and let it happen. Stopping himself from frowning again, he wondered how much damage that friendless month had done to her during his previous life at Hogwarts. Holding an 11-year-old Hermione as she barely kept it together, he thought dark thoughts about preteens.

He knew it wasn't as bad, physically, as Harry had suffered at the hands of his cousin and so-called guardians, but the psychological torture must have been intense. This only reinforced Harry's long-held opinion that all little kids were crueler and more psychopathic than even Voldemort – strangely, an opinion which he had founded sort of backed up in scientific studies in some of the psychology books he'd read in the last month.

Finding himself unable to practice magic for a month until starting (again) at Hogwarts, Harry had sought out something useful he could do, something to help his old (and now new again) friends. Thinking back to how strange they had been when he'd met them, he realized that many of them and their parents had major psychological issues, some issues he later found out only soldiers and police usually had in the so-called civilized nations and refugees and child soldiers had in worse-off locations.

And why wouldn't they: parents dead or magically tortured into insanity, extended family killed or driven out of Great Britain, friends, loved ones, and strangers murdered in front of them in the streets of Diagon Alley; anyone would have unresolved issues after that.

He couldn't remember hearing of any of his friends ever getting psychological help – Harry certainly hadn't ever received such help himself at Hogwarts. Mind Healers were rare, even in this prewar period, and most were dedicated to curing magically induced mental issues, not "mere" childhood issues – something that was barely recognized in the wizarding world – let alone PTSD or other trauma-related syndromes.

After seeing how strongly Dumbledore had reacted to (he assumed) discovering Harry's abuse at the hands of his so-called guardians, Harry had thought it might be a higher priority to find some basic muggle books on the subject of both child abuse and the kind of trauma survivors of Death Eater attacks would have. Last time at Hogwarts, it seemed like Dumbledore had just shrugged off most of the issues Harry had. Maybe the old man hadn't realized the depths of the abuse he'd suffered or just assumed he was a drama queen, but this time the old wizard had seemed ready to kill his muggle relatives because of what he'd found out.

Perhaps Dumbledore had had more experience with this kind of abuse than Harry knew. He had only vague recollections of the old wizard's family from some research he'd done after the man's death; a long-dead sister, a father who'd died in Azkaban, and an estranged brother was all he'd found. For whatever reason, Dumbledore's reaction had seriously surprised Harry.

Before, he'd practically been told to "man up" and get over his issues by any adults he'd complained to. All the bullying his friends had suffered had gone practically unpunished. No one had even tried to comfort them, the victims. Remembering how badly his own teenage years had gone, the bursts of uncontrollable anger and the damage his Accidental Magic had done, Harry sarcastically thought to himself that that might have been the wrong approach. So he went looking in the muggle world for answers.

The librarians had looked at him a little strangely when he'd asked for their help finding the books, but assisted the mature-acting boy after he'd (honestly) said he was looking for books on the subject to help some of his friends. Normally, he knew such a flimsy excuse and the topic itself would draw more attention, but the Charms Dumbledore had placed on him seemed to make any and all muggle adults less likely to interact with Harry – most seemed to not notice him unless he directly asked something of them. His relatives had certainly ignored him like that. So his questions about books helping survivors of violence, death, and child abuse had gone relatively unnoticed.

The books he'd found had presented facts in such a way that even a non-professional like him would be able to understand. What he'd read suggested again that the issues both he and his friends and their families suffered from were worse than he'd originally thought. He concluded that the only real solution was professional help, from a combination of Mind Healers and muggle therapy.

This was a type of healing he'd seen regularly given to soldiers from the UN Expeditionary Forces, troops who had landed in mainland Europe late in the war after Voldemort had finally struck-out against countries like France, Belgium, and Germany, following his consolidation of power in Great Britain.

Harry had assisted in several missions, embedded as a native information source for forces attempting to retake the magically occupied island nation. He had seen that the Americans especially had ensured their fighting men and women were given the help they needed to deal with the worst battlefields humanity had ever encountered, magical and muggle weapons combining into horrors never before seen. That the UN forces had been fighting a losing battle from day one only increased the need for such help.

Both the muggle and magical elements, which had worked together openly after the shattering of the Statute of Secrecy on a global scale, had experienced grueling combat and come out the other side of those encounters with major mental issues. Horrible dreams, insomnia, flashbacks, panic attacks, paranoia, all were treated with both magical and muggle techniques to heal the mind.

The idea that many of his friends had been suffering from these same problems made him burn with anger. Someone should have helped them, he thought. Adults in the magical world had much to answer for. Maybe Harry could somehow get at least the children to muggle experts.

Which brought him back to his current situation, trying to comfort his new-again muggle raised friend. This was something a little less serious than witnessing murder at age six, but much more common. She'd been different and the demon-spawn known as normal children had mauled her for it, possibly driven to greater depths by some kind of "manaphobia." All muggle-born had to deal with this very specific way of being different, with no help from the magical world until 11. Almost forever as children saw such things.

It seemed like muggle kids could _sense _magical kids, and usually reacted very poorly. Even without Accidental Magic to draw attention, they were able to see something was different with the young witches and wizards and shunned them, at best. Dudley leading his torture squad had only focused the bullying and driven off less dedicated harassment. Harry was sure others would have taken the fat boy's place, given the chance.

Harry could almost agree with Salazar on how harmful muggles were to young magicals, as all his muggle-born friends had similar stories to Harry's. Behind the pure-blood propaganda, what the "Dark" founder had wanted was no muggle raised magicals at all, with any muggle-born fostered with full or half-blood families and raised in the magical world instead of the muggle from birth.

His objection to those raised outside the magical world going to Hogwarts was obvious: until they were of school age, those children had to remain ignorant of magic along with their parents. Thus, they would enter the school at a serious disadvantage, taking up space that could have been used to educate those raised in the magical world, those who would almost always do better because of that advantage. This was in addition to the issues of keeping the magical world hidden with two muggles added to the secret per muggle-raised Hogwarts student and the issues those children would have from being forced to live in the muggle world for 11 years. Waiting until their Hogwarts letter arrived was pure torture for most of them and Hermione was certainly no exception.

His first time through, he'd been no help to her. He'd practically ignored Hermione's feelings until the troll incident and that entire time she must have been suffering. After joining a fantastic new world literally full of magic, something she'd taken as her last hope for happiness, she had still found no comfort. Brilliantly skillful in this new ability she was again shunned by her peers, her deeper problems again ignored by her teachers. She must have been so excited getting on the train and so disappointed when everyone at her new school treated her as bad or worse than before.

Grimly smiling, he gently hugged his old friend, young again, and helped her return to their compartment. They had much to discuss, he had magical knowledge to share and, most importantly, books with which to distract her. She would still be twitchy from previous bullying and related ostracization, but he'd do his damnedest to make sure she'd never be so alone again. She'd never be forgotten and left crying in a bathroom all afternoon and god help Ron if he so much as opened his fucking mouth this Halloween.

* * *

Being awake during the entirety of the Hogwarts Express train ride was a lot less boring than Harry had anticipated. Even though Neville and Ron quickly drifted off into serial naps, Hermione kept raiding his trunk for new books, flipping through them quickly one after another. She'd made it to the Third Year Charms book by the time they'd started to slow down for Hogsmeade station. Everyone rushed to put on their robes, with Hermione standing in the corridor while the others changed.

After putting Harry's books back into his trunk (Hermione had to take that over, using some secret female packing strategy to stuff it all back in) they found themselves some of the last to leave the train. The huge voice of the half-giant Hagrid (Harry had to remind himself that was again a secret now) called them to the boats with the rest of the first years. Seeing the castle whole again was almost as good as seeing it for the first time. The last time Harry had seen it, it was still burning with Fiendfyre after Voldemort's final attack, not a tower or wall still standing.

Now it was lit with joyful lights, waiting for them to arrive to start the feast. The four new friends found a boat of their own and the group started out to the castle. Hermione kept up a constant barrage of questions, whispered just over the sound of the boats gliding over the lake, directly into Harry ear. The topics covered the lake, the castle, Hogsmeade, Hagrid, and Harry himself. She was careful not to ask anything related to his future knowledge, but Ron and Neville still gave them strange looks at her questions and his whispered replies.

Piling out of the boats, the scared looking little kids were handed off to McGonagall, who lead them through the castle to just by the Great Hall. The Head of Gryffindor House briefly looked the young students over with a slightly sour look on her face. When her eyes met Harry's, she flinched slightly and quickly moved on, telling them to wait until she came back to lead them to the Sorting, the feast to follow immediately after.

"That was strange," he thought. "Wonder why she reacted that way. She obviously recognized me. Hard to miss the scar. But that wasn't her reaction last time."

Standing and waiting with his four friends for her to return, he saw Draco Malfoy and his goons (predictably) approaching again. He decided on the same strategy as before – no reason to change what was working. He whispered to Hermione, "Whatever he says, don't react. Let me try something. Pass it on to the others." She gave him an annoyed look but nudged Ron and started to whisper at him. Harry slide forward a little so he was slightly in front of his friends and waited, not yet looking directly at the blond idiot.

"Potter," Draco sneered at them, "seems you still have poor taste in your associates. I once again recommend you dump the penniless redhead, the mudblood wench, and the squib and consider an entirely better class of friends. People such as myself." He grinned as if he'd said something both brilliant and amusing.

Harry once again simply stared at Malfoy with a completely blank face. Behind him, Ron had started to say something but Hermione interrupted in a hurried whisper that shut him up again. Neville wouldn't have said anything anyway and was simply watching along with most of the waiting children.

"What is this? Are you both stupid and mute? Answer me when I talk to you!" Draco demanded, face growing redder by the second. Harry simple stared through the moron's head, face still expressionless, but body loose and ready in case the mouth-breather did something extra stupid.

His magic might be malfunctioning but, even with an 11-year-old's body, Harry could still take him easily. He'd hung out with US Special Forces troops for years and had picked up some basic moves in return for patching up their minor training scrapes with his semi-competent Healing magic. No pure-blood ever learned real, physical fighting techniques and, even at 11, constant chores had left Harry wiry and tough, if a little skinny from poor nourishment. Draco would be demolished in seconds.

Starting to open his mouth again, Malfoy was interrupted by McGonagall returning to take them to the Sorting. Whispering reminders to Neville and Ron to be calm and insist immediately they be put in Gryffindor, he followed the group from near the back. Briefly squeezing Hermione's hand, he smiled and repeated his advice, adding, "It'll be fine. Nothing to worry about, just make sure to ask for Gryffindor and we'll talk again after the feast."

The Great Hall was as impressive as he remembered, the ceiling a beautiful starry night sky. All the tables were full of older students, an uncomfortable number of which he remembered dying during the war. Many of those at the Slytherin table had joined the Death Eaters but older pure-blood students from all Houses joined what looked like the winning side eventually. Fewer Gryffindors than others, obviously, but Wormtail had a fair number of young imitators from the House of the Lion.

After the same strange song it had sung the first time, the Hat and McGonagall started the Sorting. All the first years looked so young and tiny to him now, even more so as they took their turn to sit on the stool and wear the Hat. Harry didn't remember all the assignments from last time, but everyone seemed to be getting sorted the same way. Made sense. He hadn't interacted with anyone but his old friends and they were all going into Gryffindor anyway, the same as last time.

He didn't exactly remember, but it seemed like Hermione spent a little longer under the Hat than she had the first time. Long enough that her Sorting had been the longest up to that point by far, but not long enough that people started whispering. She looked extremely pale and shaky as she took her seat at Gryffindor table to modest cheers from the Lions. He'd have to ask her about what had happened later.

Neville also seemed to take a slightly longer time than the others, but was still sorted into Gryffindor. Malfoy was, of course, almost instantly sorted into Slytherin. Soon they started the P's (Parkinson, Patil times two, Perks) and the room started getting much quieter, with almost no cheers between the Hat's pronouncements. Harry was a little more aware of his surroundings this time, being about 80% less terrified, and saw many older students trying to spot the famous Harry Potter among the Firsties, their necks craning to get a better view. The teachers at the main table had apparently already spotted him and their occasional quick glances at him were extremely unsettling.

McGonagall was prune-faced and still busy with the Sorting, her attention entirely on her job (as usual), but two of Heads of Houses had strange emotions cross their faces every time they looked at him, similar to McGonagall when she'd met them after the boat ride. Was it...sadness and pity? That was something else new. Last time, they had all been pleased and excited to see him. More changes because of Dumbledore, perhaps. The last Head of House, Snape, was the oddest. Instead of the sneers Harry remembered, his face was entirely blank and he simply stared straight ahead at the opposite wall, unmoving and stiff in his chair.

Seeing Quirrell sitting there fidgeting nervously with his tableware next to Snape made him quickly look away – Harry wasn't really looking forward to challenging his mental defenses against Voldemort's shade so soon, so he carefully avoided eye contact with either the front or back of his head. He'd take care of that snaky bastard soon enough.

And then it was suddenly Harry's turn. He realized he'd been standing there for several seconds after his name had been called and lurched into motion, recovering quickly and walking steadily toward the stool. McGonagall seemed to control her features carefully as he glanced back and up at her, only slightly twitching as she stood behind him and watched as he dropped the Hat onto his head.

"_Oh ho, what do we have here?"_ Harry heard echoing through his mind. Taking a deep breath, he kept his cool and decided to test his luck a little.

"_Uh, hello,_" he replied. "_I've heard good things about Gryffindor, so I'd really like to go there with my friends._"

"_Yeah, yeah, we both know it won't be that straight forward,"_ the Hat responded.

Harry's blood froze. Was this the Slytherin thing again? Was Voldemort's soul fragment in his head a more powerful factor with his own magic broken? He had expected the Hat to notice something strange about him, but if his Cursed Scar didn't twig it last time, what was happening this time? Maybe it was something else?

"_We both know you've been sorted before._" the Hat said next, Harry quietly panicking at the unexpected pronouncement. It was quiet for the longest time, then the Hat said, "_Strange. You're not disguised or Polyjuiced or something like that, yet you have the mind of an adult. No childlike wonder or confusion here. I don't remember much about previous Sortings, but I would remember something like this __happening before__._

"_Hmm. Yes, some hardening of the heart, maybe from the sad things that sometimes happen in the worst families. But so long ago, almost a forgotten memory despite the pain. The rest is more like a veteran warrior, used to death and loss. I've seen the worst damage caused by war to young kids in my days, some even in this year's Sorting, but nothing like this._

"_But none of that really matters, because as I've said, you have already been Sorted."_

Harry wasn't too proud to admit to himself that he totally panicked after hearing that. Trying to mount a defense, anything to keep this disaster from ruining his plans, he decided to just ask.

"_I don't understand. Why do you think I've been Sorted?_"

The Hat sighed in his mind. "_Well this is all most unusual, so why not. I'll explain the secrets of the Sorting to you. I would ask that you not tell anyone else, but I'm sure you would anyway if it was to help you save lives. I can see that clearly enough. Just don't release this secret without good cause._"

Harry quickly nodded his head. He realized this was really dragging on, students starting to look uneasy at the amount of time this was taking. He was well on his way to challenging the record for longest Sorting for the second time.

"_Well, the first thing you should know, young Gryffindor – yes, I can tell that I where you were sorted, for reasons I'll soon explain – is that there are certain Laws, both magical and legal governing the creation and use of magical Artifacts that have both Sentience and Mental Magical abilities._

"_First, the magical Law: no Sentient Artifact can possibly be made to act outside specific Rules, set when the Magic is laid down. If you could actually figure out what rules a human mind runs on, you could make a magical object indistinguishable from a human's mind. Otherwise, the magical object will be much more limited. I, for example, can only assist in Sorting students and advising those associated with Hogwarts in related student issues. Also, I have a second task which Godric himself secretly put into me shortly before his death. I will not discuss that second task for my own reasons, do not even ask. _

"_Second, the legal status of Mental Magic Artifacts: no such item is allowed to report results of it's Legilimency outside of registered uses. These legal limitations are strongly guarded – Hit Wizards responding to unregistered use of Mental Magic Artifacts tend to curse a lot first and ask questions of anything still capable of rational thought later._

"_If I were to report thoughts of students or attempt to read and report thoughts at any time other than the Sorting, I would be destroyed, Founder's artifact or not, and anyone trying to use me for that purpose would end up in Azkaban for life. The use of such is also not allowed in trials or questioning suspects. It is too easy to influence most items that can read minds, changing their reported results – I am, of course, of such power as to be beyond any corruption._" The Hat seemed more than a little smug at that statement.

This was all news to Harry. He'd never suspected anything like this before but it made sense. Why wouldn't everyone have magical, mind-reading hats otherwise? That second task sounded a lot like delivering Godric's sword to someone worthy, something that had saved Harry's life when he'd been fighting the basilisk.

"_Oh Great Sorting Hat,_" Harry started.

The Hat interrupted him immediately, "_Seriously?_"

"_Okay, fine. What you are trying to say is, you won't tell anyone about it if I tell you why I show up as already sorted?"_

"_Correct, child."_

"_Can't you simply read my mind and find out?_" Harry asked.

"_Nope, doesn't work that way. I can't actually read that kind of information, just general emotions and feelings and such, including emotional histories of people who wear me. You know, that touchy-feely kind of stuff that kids need help with and adults lie about,_" the Hat replied.

"_Then how do you know I was sorted? Can you tell me?"_

The hat sighed again in his mind. "_Sure, why not. I put a magical mark on everyone I've ever sorted, indicating which House they were sorted into. It is only activ__e__ and detectable when someone is inside Hogwarts, however, and most of the magic that was designed to take advantage of this mark has eroded or been lost over the years._

"_Originally, the House dorms and some other locations and items were automatically set to work only for students belonging to the correct House. Now, the original locations are no longer used as dorms and the magic is replaced with spoken passwords and such. But the original magic is still applied to every student._

"_Also, a minor mental compulsion is put on the child to keep details of __t__he __S__orting a secret and keep them from discussing it with anyone who hasn't gone to Hogwarts. The Sorting Song I sing is actually a cover for this Charm being cast over all the new first year students. It is also when I do the initial reading on __new __students, to __determine__ where they see themselves going and how they feel about it. __I__ count how many people have firm choices and which can be Sorted to fill __quotas for House __slots. But the secrecy charm is the most delicate part._

"_This powerful and ancient magic, which is completely safe to use on children by the way, is effective even over the long-term. If someone tried to force a Hogwarts student to tell the secret it wouldn't protect it, but anything short of a life-and-death situation would find them choosing to simply not say anything about me. This is why one can't tell other people about how the Sorting works, at least the exact details, like what magical object is used. Otherwise, every student (except for the muggle-raised) would know how it works before their First Year. Every book on Hogwarts would have the details and people might try to manipulate me."_

Harry was stunned and confused. "_This is a lot to take in, Hat._" he finally thought. "_Also, a little creepy. But sure, that makes sense."_

"_Well, while __I'm__ sharing, did you know the Houses weren't originally anything but color-coded dorms?_" the Hat said. Harry was getting tired of surprises and realized that his Sorting was really dragging on, but this information was literally priceless.

"_No, Hat, I didn't. What exactly does that mean?_" he replied.

"_It's like this, Harry: the Founders didn't actually base the Houses on attributes they liked or animals representing them, or even their names. It was simply based on colors they all picked out: Red, Yellow, Blue, and Green. Not even their favorite colors. Those were the original names of the Houses, but soon after their deaths people started trying to associate attitudes and names with the Houses. First, the Founders' names replaced the colors as House names, then, a few hundred years later, the animals were added._

"_It is rather sad, actually. The Founders knew that factionalization was dangerous, so the colors were simply ways to tell the Houses apart. Even Salazar agreed, at the time. They originally even shared a single, large set of common rooms as well has having separate, color-coded dorms. The only other things the colors were used for was the House points system, seating arrangements, a few enchanted items, and inner-house sports teams. Ever wonder why the current dorm locations are kind of strange, with two in towers, one in a subbasement and one in the dungeons? Those are not the original locations, which are much, much larger. They moved them sometime in the 1500s and again in the late 1700s. Current student populations are at an all time low, and they've only been shrinking for the last two hundred years or so._

"_Harry, the very idea that young children should be split into groups based on how seemingly inquisitive or ambitious they are or could be is quite insane. I certainly can't tell the future and the concept that there will be even near an equal number of loyal or brave students ever year is absurd. I was originally enchanted simply to make sure friends and relations weren't split between Houses unnecessarily and that all the Houses ended up close to numerically equal. If you wanted into Red House and it wasn't full, I'd let you sort into it. If your childhood bully was in Blue, I wouldn't sort you into Blue House. Do you seriously think someone like Neville is a perfect Gryffindor, based on the traits ascribed to it? Consider that he might simply have wanted to be with you and his other friends!_

"_This original system was changed and corrupted when the Houses were renamed and reinvented as strange trait-based groups. I still ignore it, for the most part, but with the changes in student dorms and extreme factional violence, especially between Slytherin and Gryffindor, I have had to make sure someone won't get too badly bullied by their peers. A child who wasn't seen as brave enough would get bullied in Gryffindor, for example, but some families are now known for being in a certain House and would have even worse issues if they weren't sorted as tradition dictated. For example, putting a Weasley boy into Slytherin would be like throwing chum to the sharks, even if the child was, say, very ambitious. Not that I'm saying anything about a boy, specifically, not even one I'm about to sort. Just a hypothetical example. Makes it hard when I can't put many muggle-born or even half-bloods into Slytherin. More of them every year who can afford the tuition. So anyway, those House traits are a self-fulfilling and self-imposed structure, one the Founders never intended."_

"_Woah,__ wait a second,"_ Harry said, mind churning, "_does that mean Draco Malfoy wasn't put in Slytherin so quick because he's an evil git, but because you needed to fill the Green House quota __of pure-bloods? __And I guess because__ he __really, really wanted to be sorted that way?_"

"_I can't comment on other student's __S__orting results __like that__, but the situation you describe is certainly possible, even likely,_" the Hat replied evasively.

"_But this is taking so long that people are starting to get worried__. __Why don't you tell me why you've already been sorted and then I can decide whether you are a threat to Hogwarts that needs to be __magically__ restrained __while the proper authorities are called,_" the Hat finished in a suddenly serious tone, obviously no longer playful or teasing.

Mouth dry, Harry quickly decided nothing short of the truth would work here. Licking his lips reflexively, he concentrated carefully on his mental link with the Hat. "_Well, uh, yeah. So. __There was this ritual and I went back in time __and-_" Harry started.

"_Welp, that's enough __for me__, shut up now thanks,"_ the Hat quickly interrupted.

Blinking slowly, Harry once again considered how surreal his life was.

"_Wait, wait, wait. Seconds ago, you were threatening me __with the Aurors__ to __get me to __tell you about why I'd already been sorted, but now you don't want to know anything?_" he asked, incredulous.

"_Harry, really not going to go into detail, but that's right. Magically messing around with time and then actually _telling_ a creature of pure magic about it is a very, very bad idea. Worse than meeting yourself, which by the way you absolutely shouldn't try to do__. __A__nd if it is possible that might happen, don't even __think about trying__ to tell me about how you are keeping it from happening__. __Look, __I'm going to sort you immediately, just saying where you've already been placed. Can't really do otherwise, at this point. So you go to Red__-__"_

"_No, no, wait! Please! I need to __m__ake sure you sort a Firstie next year, Luna Lovegood, into Gryffindor! She got horribly bullied in Ravenclaw last time and she is, was, argh...she's a good friend of mine! __Just telling you about that should be enough to-__"_

"_GREAT. FINE. SHUT UP. Merlin, __I really hope you don't destroy all of...what did that one muggle-born kid call it? The theological physicalist or whatever? Blue House or Ravenclaw sorted, __named...uhhh, Hawks? W__ent back to muggle college for his degree and post-grad stuff. Dumbledore was so proud of him. Then, __just before the war, a Dark wizard__ cursed him, __leaving__ him in one of those wheeliechairs, or whatever muggle__s__ call it. Has to talk with __a __muggle device__ now __but still does such great work. Was __the thing called...__place-time? Everything, including yesterday's kitchen sink, boom. __Saw stuff about it from __that bushy__...errr...one of the other students this year. __She wouldn't shut up about it__. __Don't do it is my point. Anyway, have fun doing whatever and stay out of trouble in _GRYFFINDOR."

Sweat was slick on Harry's forehead and his legs shook as he stood up and removed the Hat. McGonagall gingerly took it from Harry and turned it over and around in her hands, staring at it for a while. Harry stumbled to the Gryffindor table, taking a few steps before the Weasley twins, the first to recover, shouted, "WE GOT POTTER!" and the entire Gryffindor table exploded in cheers.

Hermione and Neville were saving him a sport between them which he dragged himself toward as the entire table stared at him and cheered. His two friends were near fainting with stress but were also absurdly relived looking. Hermione was also now just starting to appear annoyed at him, as if it was his fault he'd taken almost 10 minutes to be sorted. Neville just seemed glad it was over.

Hermione immediately started whispering questions into his ear again, which made some of the older students raise their eyebrows at the two Firsties apparently necking right in the middle of the Great Hall. Ron had been quickly sorted and was now sitting with the twins across from Harry, practically bouncing out of his seat with joy. Thankfully, the food appeared almost immediately after Dumbledore's strange speech, which Harry missed entirely this time because Hermione's superbrain could apparently whisper questions in his ear while also listening to the ancient wizard.

As good as his own cooking had been over the last month, nothing satisfied like a Hogwarts feast. Harry enjoyed himself while dodging or ignoring the more serious questions of his fellow Housemates, trying to keep in mind how little he should know about the wizarding world at this point. Attempting to be a little more sociable and a little less like the emotionally damaged boy he'd been during his first time through this year, he tried to engage in conversation with some of the older students he'd never interacted with previously. He had limited success but at least now they wouldn't think he was quietly plotting their doom or something.

The meal went by in a joyful flash, but when dessert was about to be served Harry's Teacher Sense started tingling. Sure enough, McGonagall was just about to sneak up behind him and grumble something. Harry turned and smiled at her and she paused, a worried look crossing her face, then continued walking over to Harry's place at the table.

"Mr. Potter, the Headmaster wishes to meet with you immediately after the feast is over. Please wait for me outside the Great Hall once everyone is dismissed and I will take you to his office. I have already informed your House's Prefects of this so they know not to expect you until later."

"Got it, Professor. I'll wait for you there," Harry chirped. Nodding once, she turned and quickly walked back to the teachers' table. Trying to avoid the Headmaster's gaze, she sat and stared at her folded hands.

"Minerva? How...how did he seem?" he asked, barely above a whisper. Clenching fingers together until her knuckles turned white, she quietly growled back, "He seemed well, Albus. Better than we could possible deserve."

* * *

Sitting in Dumbledore's office again was both familiar and strangely different. Harry was in a large, overstuffed chair with his feet swinging, staring at all the strange clicking, swinging, blooping, glowing, and humming devices that covered the Headmaster's office. McGonagall had given no hint about the topic of the meeting as she led him to the gargoyles (password for the day: "sweetroll") and the Headmaster hadn't looked up from his paperwork until Harry was seated along with McGonagall. When he did, it was without his usual twinkle; instead he appeared to have rings under his eyes and a sad smile on his face.

"Mr. Potter, welcome to Hogwarts," he said gently.

Slightly unnerved, Harry gulped and tried to remember to talk like an 11-year-old. "T-thank you Headmaster. I'm, uh, very glad to be here." Harry replied, uneasily.

The Headmaster peered at him owlishly for a few seconds, then relaxed visibly. "Good, good. Well young Harry – may I call you Harry?" he asked.

"Yes, of course Headmaster," he quickly replied.

"Please Harry, at least call me Professor Dumbledore. I fondly remember my days as a teacher and would rather be reminded of that than the paperwork that currently collects on my desk as Headmaster."

"I understand, Professor," Harry said with a grin.

"It is getting late, Harry," Dumbledore said, a small twinkle returning to his eyes. "I will be brief so that all the old people can get to bed on time. What the young people decide to do is, of course, between them and their Heads of House." McGonagall cleared her throat loudly, glaring at Dumbledore.

"Ah, yes, quite right," he said, smiling quietly now. "Harry, I am sure you enjoyed your time in the hospital wing as much as any of our students but it is necessary for you to receive the next in a series of checkups with our Healer. Tomorrow after classes, we will need you to see Madam Pomfrey for an extensive series of medical tests. This will be entirely painless but does involve an overnight stay."

Harry's mind spun. There was something obviously wrong with his magic. Trying that simple spell had left him incredibly tired and he was only now recovering. It hadn't even worked and he still felt a little light headed. Maybe a visit to the hospital wing would come up with some answers.

"Okay, Professor. I'll check in with her right after classes," Harry said, then almost slapped himself for forgetting he wasn't supposed to know his way around. "I, uhh, think I remember where it is from last time."

Dumbledore smiled at him. "I'm sure, Harry, but make sure to ask a Prefect if you get lost. Though getting lost will certainly be a major pastime for first year students this year, as is usual, it wouldn't do to keep Madam Pomfrey waiting."

"Well," Dumbledore said, slightly more tense than before, "one last thing young Harry: this Wednesday after classes there will be a different sort of Healer in the hospital wing, one I hope you'll agree to talk to. Her name is Doctor Tonks and she is a Mind Healer."

Dumbledore shifted uncomfortably in his chair, looking at some spinny thing on a corner of his desk. "Allow me to explain. As a Healer like Madam Pomfrey works on the wounds of the body, a Mind Healer works on the wounds of the soul. Usually, she heals the damage done by magical spells that target one's mind or soul, but sometimes...sometimes bad things happen, events that are entirely mundane, that cause similar injuries.

"Words have Power, Harry, and she is skilled at listening to the words people use. Understanding comes from this and Doctor Tonks uses her skills and this greater understanding to help people and heal such hurts."

Turning back to Harry with a sad look in his eyes, Dumbledore continued, "I would like you to spend some time talking with her this Wednesday after classes, and for the next few days after that. If you feel uncomfortable talking to Doctor Tonks, you do not have to continue seeing her. But I would like you to consider at least giving what she has to offer a chance, even if it only turns out to be a kind ear to talk to about your classes or your favorite type of sandwich meat.

"Her specialty is listening, after all, and we need to make sure she feels appreciated." Here the corners of his mouth turned up, but he didn't really smile.

This was exactly what his friends needed, Harry realized. He had no illusions about his screwed up psyche being fixed this way, but maybe he could wrangle it into sessions for Neville or Hermione. Some of the older students he knew less well were missing parents or other relatives and most of the adults had seen some awful stuff.

Maybe he could somehow "fake" getting better. Having the Boy-Who-Lived helped this way by a Mind Healer might make it a more popular treatment option. Harry realized what the Daily Prophet would likely do once it got out that he was being treated for "madness" with a Mind Healer. The headlines almost wrote themselves. No matter, it was worth it for his friends. Not trusting his voice, Harry simply nodded slowly.

In a split second decision, Harry decided to share his latest magical health incident. "Professor Dumbledore, I...I had another episode on the train."

Instantly looking worried, Dumbledore's face fell. McGonagall leaned over and put a gentle hand on his arm, looking worried.

"I am so sorry to hear that, Harry," Dumbledore quickly said. "Could you tell us what happened?"

"Y-yes, Professor," Harry said. "Uh, I was trying to do a Levitation Charm to show my friends how it worked. And I did everything right but...the sock only twitched and then I felt really weak and sick and fell down. Uh, Hermione took care of making sure I didn't hurt myself but I couldn't get up for several minutes. I didn't pass out or, uhh, throw up like the other time and I was feeling a lot better by the time we got to the castle." He shifted uncomfortable in the chair, something about huge looming adults making his tiny child brain way more nervous than he really should be.

"I'm sorry, I really am," he continued. "I, err, didn't say anything before and maybe I should have but everything was so busy and exciting...but then you said I'd be going to the hospital wing and that reminded me, so..." He ran out of things to safely say, hoping that was enough and not too much at the same time. McGonagall was patting his arm comfortingly, her face scrunched up and lips pursed, obviously holding back some kind of scolding. Dumbledore nodded silently and relaxed slightly after listening to his explanation.

"I see, I see," Dumbledore said, nodding wisely. "Thank you for telling us, Harry. You are certainly not in any trouble. As I remember, I ran through the entire First Year Charms textbook on my first train ride to Hogwarts, casting one spell after another. This left me so entirely exhausted that I fell asleep in the clotted cream tureen during dessert at the Gryffindor table. My classmates teased me about that until Fourth Year, if I recall." Dumbledore seemed to realize he'd gotten off track and coughed. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry would swear that McGonagall rolled her eyes.

Briefly looking at one of the strange spinning devices, Dumbledore smiled suddenly. "Good, good. Thank you for your time, Harry. We all have so little of it but it is always good to share it with a fine young man such as yourself. Well, you should hurry over to the hospital wing now. Madam Pomfrey would be quite upset with me if I made you wait until your scheduled checkup tomorrow after falling ill earlier. I certainly do not expect any problems so this is just to make sure. Minerva will escort you there and then back to your common room where I am sure your new Housemates are waiting to talk with you before heading off to bed."

"That was a strange thing to say," Harry thought. "How could he-"

Glancing at the odd nicknacks around the office, Harry realized that some of them must be monitoring student locations around the castle. Of course! If some bratty 16-year-olds could make a live map of Hogwarts in their spare time, _of course _the Headmaster would have something as good or better. That would explain how the Heads of House always seemed to be able to find misbehaving students, but only if it mattered enough for Dumbledore to be involved. Must not cover the Chamber or the Room of Requirements, though, same as the map. And it seemed, from what he said, that Hermione must be waiting for him in the Gryff's common room.

"Well then, Professor, I shouldn't keep them waiting. I'm sure everything is fine. I feel much better already," Harry said, getting up to follow McGonagall out of the Headmaster's office, a smile pasted on his face.

"If Dumbledore had something as good as the Marauder's Map, what about voice monitoring?" Harry thought, "Magical image recording? Spell monitoring or even mind reading devices?"

Walking to the magical spiral staircase, he realized he was hitting some kind of paranoia event horizon and seemed to be getting relentlessly sucked in. It was clear that either talking with Hermione in the common room or sneaking off with her weren't safe ways to discuss things. He couldn't even try for the Room of Requirements until he was sure he wasn't being watched.

He'd have to figure something else out, some way to safely answer her questions. And soon. _She _would not be pleased if they had to wait until this weekend or even a minute longer than necessary, and he knew he would suffer if he failed her.

* * *

His medical checkup had been inconclusive (as he expected) and he had simply been given a couple of nasty potions (also as he expected) and told in no uncertain terms to not cast any spells unless a teacher was present until tomorrow's more extensive exam.

McGonagall led him to the Gryffindor entrance, opened it (password: "courage and truth"), and gently pointed out the First Year boy's rooms. Waiting nervously until she left to move further into the room, he quickly became confused. He had expected the questions to start moments after he entered the common room. The lack of bushy-haired ambushers...worried him. There were a couple of older students taking advantage of their later curfews to catch up, snog quietly in a corner, or (for one studious Seventh Year) getting some early studying in, but otherwise the common room was quiet. What had Dumbledore seen? Maybe she had gotten tired of waiting.

Shrugging and thanking his lucky stars for the delay in his interrogation, Harry went up to the dorm rooms he so fondly remembered and got ready for bed. Seeing his roommates were already all asleep, he quietly closed his curtains, carefully adjusted his wand holster under his pajamas so it wouldn't pinch, and tried to drift off to sleep.

What seemed like ten seconds later, his bed shifted suddenly. He quietly inched his wand down his arm and cursed his inability to set up proper wards. He couldn't risk passing out and spending the next day in the hospital wing. Harry carefully kept his eyes closed and continued to pretend to sleep. Who could be after him now? Draco couldn't get in here – not yet anyway. He had avoided even looking at Quirrell at the feast earlier. Could he even get one spell off before whatever was wrong with him made him throw up?

"I can see you're awake, you know – one's breathing pattern changes slightly at arousal," the bushy-haired one whispered directly into his ear. Harry barely avoided screaming like a little girl and instead squeaked quietly.

"Interesting point not mentioned in _Hogwarts, a History_," she continued, speaking in one continuous stream without breathing, "one which I just found out from a Prefect today, is that while the girl's dorm stairs are warded against males entering (an alarm sounds in the Head of House's office and bedroom and the trespasser is physically thrown out, I am told) the _boy's _dorm has no such alarm, which is totally sexist if you ask me but I'm sure it was designed by someone who thought that equality was a couple of horizontal lines used in 'maths' and not something that women either had or deserved and based on what I've seen so far the _entire_ wizarding world is in _sore _need of some woman's suffrage, which I don't know if it even happened in the wizarding world as apparently _no one _votes for the Minister for Magic, which is not a viable system of-" She was suddenly cut off as Harry put a hand over her mouth, opening his eyes with a wince. She was glaring at him already but wasn't struggling. Still, not a good sign.

Hermione had crawled onto his bed and was currently on all fours, leaning over next to his head, whispering up several doctoral theses into his ear. Her hair was now tickling his noise. "Hermione," he asked in a whisper, still covering her mouth, "what are you doing?" He took his hand away. She glared at him for a second before continuing.

"Oh, getting more information from you, of course," she said, looking incensed at his stupid question. "I assumed that common areas might be monitored by either teachers or Prefects, so meeting you here was the obvious solution."

"So, you don't see anything...improper about being in the boys dorm after curfew?" he asked with a grin, wondering where the rules lawyer he knew had gone. She was still self-aware enough to blush a little, it seemed.

"Harry! We're _eleven_. At least physically. Don't be obscene," she said, looking disappointed in him, still leaning on her elbows next to him and whispering inches away. "Anyway, it only says students have to be in bed in the dorms, not in their own, specific beds. Just 'in bed'. Maybe they later clarify what is expected for older students, but in the mean time: I am in the dorms. In. A bed. So hush." Harrumphing, she glared at him again.

"Okay, wow. So. How did you do it?" he asked.

"I bored them into inattention," she said, obviously proud of herself, "After you didn't show up after a while, I went to my room. And then I came back to the common room, wandered around some, and asked someone where I could get a glass of water. Then I came back again asked where the bathrooms were. Then again, and asked if there were extra pillows. By that point, all of the older students were annoyed with me and either pretending to be busy or had simply left. So the last time I just wandered around some and then hid behind a chair in the corner and waited. I saw you arrive and snuck up here after waiting long enough for you to get ready for bed. Figured someone might detect it if I tried any spells, so I didn't even try." She looked extremely pleased with herself, grinning widely at him.

"Well done, Hermione," Harry said, "But what about monitoring for voices in here?"

"Ah, glad you asked," she said, "Magical monitoring either works based on remote access to the audio in a room, in which case muffling the noise enough should work, or direct magical interaction with the people in the room. The second case would require a strong ward or privacy charm to defeat if it was targeted on a specific person, but I do not believe that kind of spell would be used on a school child for no reason." Here she paused.

"You didn't do anything to draw attention to you like that, did you Harry?" she asked crossly.

"No, nothing like that. It was just a meeting about my, err, health issues."

"Good. In any case, do you know how the laundry is done around here?" she asked. Harry blankly shook his head to that non sequitur. "Well, the clothes and sheets are magically cleaned. Like with non-magical laundry, this leaves a noticeable residue on the sheets and blankets. For places where medical magic is practiced, such as the hospital wing, everything is actually washed by hand to avoid this, it seems.

"I talked to a very helpful 5th year Prefect and a pair of red-headed twins – Ron's brothers, I think. Anyway, they seemed very interested in the questions and provided some very useful information on what that kind of magical residue might do to monitoring charms." Harry continued to look at her blankly. Hermione waited with bated breath.

"So?" he said, eventually. Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. "So, get under the magic-soaked covers so we can have an eavesdropper free conversation, Harry."

Both of them crawled under the blankets (amazing how many are needed when you are in a dank castle), Hermione lit the end of her wand with a quick spell, and they huddled up again. It was stuffy with Hermione's face inches from his and she had peppermint breath.

Harry immediately started explaining the year's known dangers to her before she tried to start a magicals radical privacy organization (first thought on horrible names in his head, Wizards/Witches Helping Improve Privacy Screens, or W.H.I.P.S. – he carefully didn't mentally explore why Hermione and whips seemed to spring to mind together so quickly).

Topics he covered included Quirrell and Voldemort's shade, teachers with mind-reading abilities, potions class and Snape, Blood Purists and bullies, dragon eggs, and what was really behind the third floor door.

Harry carefully explained how he thought they should just leave it alone because it seemed like it was designed to avoid hurting any students Quirrell might use to try and trip the traps, not actually keep him out, and the final Mirror of Erised had been working when he interrupted the first time around and was likely the final piece of the trap. He _very _carefully didn't explain how final trap worked, and Hermione seemed to notice this and avoided asking questions.

By the end of it, Hermione was having to physically keep her mouth closed with one hand and was vibrating enough to shake the bed. "Harry!" she quietly squealed, "This is the best school year ever! We're going to have so much fun." Her eyes were shining and she was grinning ear to ear. "Well, so long as you don't do anything stupid, that is, like try to fight an adult Dark wizard at 11," she amended, staring hard at him.

"No, no," he quickly said, "my plan there is to expose him when Dumbledore is around to take him down. Somewhere away from students and innocent bystanders."

"You'll let me know what you are planning and when," she didn't ask.

"Yes, fine, okay."

"And you'll let me help plan stuff."

"...fine."

"And, and you'll be my best friend," she said quietly, not looking at him and picking at a fuzzball on the underside of the covers.

"Deal," Harry said, sticking out his hand, still under the stuffy, heavy blankets. Hermione stifled another laugh and used his offered hand to drag him into another crushing hug, the two of them making a blanket-ghosts-hugging shape under the covers.

Out of breath from silent laughing, Hermione finally released him and reviewed. "Well, let me see: no looking teachers in the eyes, no responding to bullies in the halls, watch out for Snape and don't engage him, no battling ghostly Dark Lords at age 11, no pity-parties in the bathrooms. I think I've got it. What about your magic being messed up? Did Madam Pomfrey say anything about that?"

"Err, well," he started weakly.

"Spit it out, Harry," she said briskly.

"No one really knows anything yet," he said, sighing. "It seems like it is some kind of magical exhaustion type of thing, but it is like my magical core is permanently 99% empty or something. I can't really cast any spells and it hasn't gotten much better in the last month. But they're going to do some more in-depth tests tomorrow after class. I'm sure it will be fine once they figure out how to treat it. The only thing they were really worried about was me being a squib or somehow losing my magic entirely."

Hermione looked worried at this, but he quickly tried to divert her attention. "Look, Hermione," he said, "I'll keep you informed on my treatment and in the mean time, I'll just have to depend on you as a sort of Seeing Eye Witch, like with the helper dogs for the blind. You can cast all my spells for me, do my classwork when I'm called on, do my homework for me because I'm too weak to lift my quill-" Here Hermione interrupted him by slapping him on the arm and glaring at him.

"Okay, fine, fine. But I'll still need your help, you brilliant young witch you," he said, causing Hermione to bush again. "Whatever happens next, we'll work it out together." She smiled and took a deep breath, then seemed to suddenly wilt with sleepiness. Hermione must have been running on pure adrenaline all evening, he realized, and now she was crashing.

"That's everything, then?" she asked, holding back a yawn.

Harry looked nervously guilty, he couldn't help it. Hermione entirely failed to not notice. "Mr. Potter. What. Are. You. Hiding," she demanded, her face still inches from his and not missing his flinching.

"Well, it is the reason Voldemort is still alive," Harry said, causing Hermione to gasp. "Basically, his spirit can't pass on while pieces of his soul are still stuck in some enchanted items. Each one was formed with a Dark ritual that involved a murder. And there are a lot of them hidden away, more than four I think. Maybe as many as six or even twelve. Dumbledore started searching for them and gave me some of the details. After...things got bad and I was on my own, I was searching for them with...with some friends but we didn't have very good leads.

"We were looking for them but we never figured out where they were, which is one of the reasons why...why we couldn't win against him. Wouldn't matter if you killed his body, he'd just come back again as a spirit and make a new one, or possess someone like our current DADA teacher. They could even try to possess someone themselves, then you'd end up with another copy of Voldemort who'd try to gather up his disembodied spirit and absorb it into the copy."

Hermione was somber at this revelation, thinking silently. "But they can be destroyed, right?"

"Right: really high-level Demon Fire spells, basilisk venom, possibly some very rare enchanted weapons, possibly the Killing Curse on living containers, but making those would be stupid," Harry replied.

"So it seems simple," she said. "Get the information about the ones you know to Dumbledore early along with how he was searching for them last time. He's a powerful wizard and, if given extra time, should be able to do more than you were able last time. There is no reason an 11-year-old should have to solve that problem. If it involves wandering all over the UK looking for hidden objects, adults really need to be in charge of it. Say you're having dreams about them or whatever. Even the third-year Divination stuff I was reading about seems kind of hard to prove one way or another, so you could claim prophetic dreams, I guess."

"I had a similar idea, Hermione. Might work," he said. "I'm going to wait a bit until things calm down, though. See if I can get a reputation as reliable and not entirely insane so maybe someone will listen to me."

"Hmm, yes," she said, smirking at him. "Sanity was the first attribute of yours I noted. That and your extreme height. They both make for a strong first impression."

"Haha, funny, Hermione," he sighed. "But it is time for all good super-genius witches and broken, time traveling wizards to get some sleep." He had to endure an extremely toothy grin in return, followed by a tongue maturely being stuck out at him.

"Sleep tight," Harry said in a sing-song voice. "Don't let the giant basilisk in the ancient Chamber of Secrets under Hogwarts bite."

Hermione paused while crawling backwards out from under the covers and gave him a questioning look. Harry looked back at her with a straight face. Eventually she shook her head and grinned, obviously thinking he was taking the piss.

"Yep," Harry thought, "this is going to be the best school year ever."


	5. Chapter 5

**Harry Potter and the Witch Queen**  
by _TimeLoopedPowerGamer_

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter.

**Summary: ** Harry Potter never actually beat Voldemort, but rather fought him to a standstill while Europe burned around them. Finding himself an unwilling part of a dark ritual to send him back in time 20 years, he is surprised to see how Dumbledore reacts to proof of obvious child abuse (Harry's), how 11 year old super-genius and Witch Queen in training Hermione reacts to actually having a socially competent friend (Harry), and how much easier it is to shrug off the insults of munchkins when you're a grizzled war veteran.

But there is one huge problem: being sent back blew out his magic entirely. Just waving his wand knocked him out the first time he tried it. Can Hermione help him though his classes even with his magic almost unusable? Will Harry be able to find the secrets to actually killing the Dark Lord and saving his friends from a horrible future without blowing his cover, or even getting mistaken for the Dark Lord himself? Will Neville Longbottom get better grades than him?

**On Content: **Canon-Harry lives in a dark world. This one is darker, with evil turned up to 11 and actual adult situations: everyone is more magical and dangerous, witches and wizards are preternaturally attractive and seductive, people are meaner, magical creatures are horrifying and have back stories, Harry has worse mental issues, teenagers are hornier, villains actually torture and kill people before the last book, etc. Rated M for Maliciousness.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Still wiping the sleep from his eyes, Ron dragged his book satchel down the corridor towards the Great Hall. Breakfast came way too early. 10:00 AM classes had to be a crime. The Wizengamot should investigate.

Just as he was stepping off the central stairs, he heard a grunt and a thump above him. Looking up, Ron saw Harry Bloody Potter _jumping_ from floating stair to floating stair, seemingly too impatient to wait for the things to float to a stop on their own. Ron was just in time to see Harry jump _up_ onto the side of another stair, chinning up onto it in a flash, then blindly hopping over the railing on the other side, ending his fall square in the middle of a flat landing on a stairway fifteen feet below him.

Several heart-stopping jumps later, Harry was off the stairs and running straight for him, having navigated them in a tiny fraction of the usual time. And he wasn't even breathing hard.

"Ron!" Harry yelled at him, skidding to a stop.

"B-bloody hell, Harry. Where's the flippin' fire?" he stammered, backing slowly away.

Moving so fast he seemed to Apparate, Harry ran up and grabbed the front of his robes, growling, "Listen very closely, Ron. I don't have much time. Hermione is in the hospital wing. She was attacked. There is a chance I'll need to exfiltrate the castle with her in about ten minutes. I need you ready in the front entryway, outside the Great Hall, in five minutes. The signal to start this operation is me shouting 'Butterbeer.'"

Harry frantically looked around them again, then leaned in closer and continued, "When I give the word, and ONLY IF I give the word, you need to throw stuff and fire off every loud and annoying spell you know at random to create a distraction for as long as possible so I can get out the front entry hall. After that, either escape or immediately surrender. They won't do worse than give you detention, but you have to wait for my signal."

Harry shook Ron by his collar like a limp doll. "Can you do this, Ron? Can you?"

Ron's eyes grew wide. This was his chance for an adventure with Harry Fucking Potter. Hells yes he could do this. "I-I'm your man, Harry. I'll be ready in _three_ minutes. Wait for 'Butterbeer,' then go crazy in public. Got it."

Harry suddenly grinned, but with all his teeth showing. It was more than a little frightening. He slapped Ron's shoulder really hard and snarled, "Good man. Knew I could count on you. If you don't hear from me after twenty minutes, just walk away and go to class as usual. Debrief after Herbology if I don't give the signal. If I have to leave, I'll owl you with a dead drop location in a few days. In that case, contact me using it during the Hols. Stay frosty, Weasley."

Harry then sprinted at full speed down the corridor in the opposite direction to the hospital wing, slapped a wall in an apparently random location which opened a secret passageway Ron had no idea was even there, and finally disappeared down it in a flash.

Ron was frozen for a few moments, brain still not catching up with what had just happened. It was still the first week of classes and he was already getting into adventures with Harry Potter.

"Time to move," he thought to himself, running down the corridor toward the Great Hall. Whatever an "exfiltrate" was, it might happen to that poor nerdy Hermione girl. Harry needed his help. He hoped she was okay and that he wouldn't need whatever a "dead drop" was. Sounded dangerous. Man, Harry was one intense dude.

* * *

_He was standing on a rocky, wind swept shore. Warming Charms and a half-dozen layers of clothing almost kept out the horrible northwestern Greenland cold. He couldn't even remember if it was winter or not. He hoped this was winter. Any colder didn't seem possible. Snuggled into his chest was his slightly-barmy (but very cuddlesome) wife. She was currently staring into the choppy waves and ice flows, looking for yet another impossible creature._

"_Dear," he started to say._

"_No, we are looking for a type of white whale. Not a deer at all," Luna interrupted. "Really Harry, imagining you could see one out here. What are you thinking? A poor deer would freeze to death in this weather."_

"_How could you be so cruel to an imaginary creature?" she asked, looking back at him from inside his encircling arms with mirthful, dreamy eyes._

_Sighing deeply and suppressing a smile, Harry said, "Of course, I apologize my lovely. I can only hope no imaginary hooved mammals were harmed by my indiscretion."_

"_I believe we squeaked by this time, lover," Luna replied. "You didn't seem to be imagining it clearly enough to actually summon one from the Outer Plains."_

"_Right, good," Harry said, trying desperately to regain control of the conversation. "So, this whale. Uhh. Has a..."_

"_A long tusk or tooth coming out the front of its head. Looks sort of like a unicorn horn," she replied, scanning the waves again._

"_Ooookay. So this unicorn whale lives around here, does it?"_

"_Yep," Luna said, still scanning the distant waves, now bringing a pair of Magiglasses to her eyes. The large device looked like a pair of ski goggles on a stick. Based on the old Omnioculars design, it gave her both normal and magical sight at a fairly good magnification and replayed anything seen through them on demand. This model also had a spell residue tagging feature, but that wasn't what Luna was interested in this time._

"_See any yet?" he asked a few minutes later._

"_Not yet, Harry," she lazily replied, snuggling back into his chest. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, holding them both against the driving wind while trying to remember how much he loved his slightly mad young wife. Seeming to sense his impatience, she dropped the Magiglasses and let them swing from the chain around her neck. This freed her hands, which she wrapped around his where they held her around the middle of her bulky coat._

"_Harry, we can't have you growing bored here!" she exclaimed, turning slightly in his arms to look into his eyes again._

"_Any number of dangerous magical creatures on ice sheets hunt using boredom. They can sense it, like sharks with blood in the water. Anything would grow bored, just staring at white snow and ice all the time, and these creatures track that feeling, homing in on it before pouncing and devouring their prey. So I completely understand how you feel, but for our safety I must do something about it." She was now smiling brightly, like the sun reflecting off the icy shoreline._

_Luna carefully removed one of her gloves and stowed it in a pocket. Her hand quickly grew red in the freezing wind. Shifting slightly to bring out her wand, she proceeded to drag it briefly down each side of her coat while whispering a few words. Tucking her wand behind her ear and under her huge, fluffy, fake-fur hat, she started removing his gloves, too. Harry looked at her questioningly but she just smiled and slide them into pockets on his coat. She retrieved her wand again and cast a warming charm on each of his hands._

"_Luna, that won't be enough to keep them from freezing in this weather," he said gently, not understanding what she was doing. His wife only grinned wider and put her wand back into her coat sleeve. Grasping his hands with hers (one gloved, one bare and growing colder by the minute) she turned away from him again and pressed her back into his chest._

_Feeling around carefully, she maneuvered his bare hands to her sides where she'd waved her wand earlier. To Harry's surprise, there were now small slits in her coat. His hands were guided deeper by her smaller ones and he found that not only the coat but her sweater, blouse, and long underwear had also been cut open by the spell, leaving his slightly chilled hands to brush against the bare skin of her sides._

_Shuddering briefly at his cold touch and humming a cheery little tune, Luna playfully twisted back and forth in front of him, causing his hands to rub against her stomach. He took several deep breaths, leaned into her shoulders, then moved his palms to her chest. His fingers brushed against her ribs and found...nothing. She wasn't wearing a bra, for some reason. Had the cheeky witch planned this ahead of time?_

_Holder her tighter to him, he crossed his arms over her chest and cupped her gently, left hand to right breast and vice-versa, running his palms across her nipples slowly. She giggled, her entire body shuddering briefly in his arms. "Your hands are cold, love," she whispered over her shoulder. "Better keep them there until they warm up again."_

"_Whatever you say, beautiful," he responded quietly, rubbing gentle circles on her soft skin. Taking a deep, shuttering breath and collecting herself, she retrieved her glove and put the Magiglasses to her eyes again. "It might be some time until I see them, you know. You should keep us both from becoming bored. For safety purposes."_

"_Absolutely," he said, squeezing suddenly and causing her to gasp and twitch in his arms. "I'm all about safety." His right hand slowly glided lower down her body, pausing occasionally to stroke her warm skin. He paused just below her firm belly, his hesitation a question. She immediately widened her stance and put a free hand on his elbow, pushing his arm and hand down. He tucked his hand under her belt. She wasn't wearing any knickers under her multiple layers and thermal bottoms._

_Snuggling back into him again, she lazily scanned the icy waves far out to sea. Minutes passed in comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional giggles and soft, shaking mews from the blond in his arms. Fingering a lusty young witch on a freezing shoreline in Greenland wasn't a normal mission for the Hero of the Light, but he'd be damned if he wouldn't do his very best. He wasn't aiming for anything earth-shattering but his slow and casual attention hopefully kept her from becoming bored. He certainly wasn't anymore._

_Despite the light sticking charms on their feet, she almost slipped on the icy rocks after a particularly complicated maneuver that ended with her audibly applauding, her cries loudly and enthusiastically praising his skills. Playing Seeker, brewing complicated potions, dueling Dark Lords, pleasing witches – all needed skillful hands and he liked to keep in practice._

_After that, he decided her chest was a safer place to keep his hands warm after all. Her brief, aching whine when he shifted positions suggested she didn't agree, but Luna quickly settled back into his chest and continued to look out to sea as before, if on slightly shakier legs._

_He was having enough trouble with his own...situation at this point that he had little sympathy, but he knew she'd repay the favor. With interest. She always did, usually in surprising and sanity-endangeringly inventive ways. He'd just have to face that later. For now, mission accomplished._

_His mind drifting (somehow) away from sex, he asked a question he'd asked many times before, sure he'd get a similar answer. "Luna my heart of hearts, why do you love these strange and rare creatures so much?"_

_She stiffened almost imperceptibly, then immediately relaxed again into his arms, twisting and arching her back to rub herself against his hands again. "It is a...complicated story, my heart's desire," she said in a low, husky voice, "but it may be time for you to know it. Do you truly want to hear this thing, something which once known, can not be unknown?"_

"_I...wait. Isn't that one of those Internet jokes?" he said, incredulously._

"_Interesting that you should say that, my love," Luna said, slowly gyrating in his arms still. "The Internet is the final playground for those tricksters, the lesser Fae. Oh, they do love their cruel jokes on humanity. They feed on pain and suffering just as easily remotely as in person. It is the emotional damage that matters, not the distance. But that is not who I am. I am much...stranger."_

"_Of course not. You aren't strange, you are my lovely Luna," Harry said, hugging her body to him and feeling her melt into his embrace._

_She sighed contentedly. "Thank you, Harry. But I must be deadly serious for a minute. This isn't easy for me. What do you know of my father?"_

"_Xenophilius raised you as a single parent since...since you were nine," Harry started, "he had some...interesting ideas about wizarding politics, and he ran The Quibbler until...well, and he loved you and your mother very much, Luna. I'm sure of that." He hugged her close once again, feeling the tension in her body._

"_Thank you again, Harry. As usual, you are correct," she said softly, wrapping her arms over her chest and over his. "What you may not know is why he was the way he was." At this, Harry grew still and listened closely._

"_He was...do you know how old Flitwick was part-goblin, on his father's side?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at him. He nodded._

"_Well...daddy was...so...I am..." here she stalled out, her head hanging down._

"_What's wrong Luna? Nothing you could tell me would make me love you less – you know that, right?" He rocked her slowly in his arms, waiting for her to look at him again._

"_I am sorry, Harry. Through my silence and inaction, I have committed a lie of omission. I am not who or what you think. But I am afraid to say it out loud," she said, almost inaudibly. "Please. Bend your head and I will whisper the secret in your ear, for only you and the not wind to hear." Leaning over Luna's shoulder slightly, he tucked his head in and waited. Turning her head, she now breathed directly into his ear, tickling him softly._

"_The truth is, Harry, I am-" she started. Static and a loud, high-pitched whine filled his head, shutting down one of his senses. He nodded twice, hearing her story and understanding at last why Luna was who she was, then he said something to her. She nodded back sadly. For a few minutes he squeezed his wife tightly again, holding her as she sobbed without sound. Then his senses were once again his own and his wife was weakly reaching for the Magiglasses again._

"_I love you, Luna," he said into the scarf covering the side of her neck, "and I always will, no matter what."_

"_I know, Harry," she said quietly, once again scanning the waves, "and I will love you for all time and in any time as well. I hope you can remember that, no matter what happens, and also that I am sorry for any pain I cause you." Harry suddenly felt her body tense and she took a huge, gasping breath, shifting his hands on her chest in interesting ways._

"_Harry, look!" she shouted, pointing with one hand while staring through the Magiglasses. Off in the distance, fairly clear to see was a whale-shaped creature, larger than a dolphin, pale as a drowned corpse, and just poking its head out of the water by small piece of floating ice. It had a huge horn shape growing out of its nose._

"_Amazing!" Harry said, shocked to see one of Luna's strange creatures in person at last._

"_Here Harry, take a look!" she said excitedly, offering him the Magiglasses. Then she squeaked as he hurriedly dragged one hand out of her coat and over her sensitive skin. Taking a long look through the device, he could clearly see the mythical creature Luna had described._

"_Isn't it lovely," she said, wiggling against his remaining hand, her nipple now hard as stone again. "Best. Honeymoon. Ever," she groaned._

"_Absolutely," Harry said, still in awe. "What was it called again? A Nargle?" he asked, still confused to actually be seeing this._

"_No, Harry. I told you before. It's a Narwhal. A rare and beautiful creature."_

_Tickling her gently, Harry replied, "Just like you, my brilliant young witch." She started giggling and was soon laughing long and loud as they continued to watch a small group of the animals poking around the ice flow, huge tusks waving in the air._

* * *

Waking up Thursday morning, Harry had cursed for the first time in a long time (a curse he would surely be repeating regularly now) whoever thought it was a good idea to have a midnight Astronomy class in the middle of the fucking week. Half-remembered dreams haunted him then were quickly forgotten as he tried to gather the strength to drag himself out of bed. What had it been? Magic and love and secrets. Everything cold but wonderful. Sort of like this stupid castle this morning.

"Why not Friday?" he mentally grumbled. Sure, it would screw with people's "date night," but it wasn't like broom closets closed early or anything. Yeah, classes didn't start until almost lunch on Thursday, but breakfast was still over at 9:30 AM like usual.

He'd skip it, maybe bug the elves in the kitchen for a sandwich between classes later. Shit, and he still needed to talk to Hermione about last night, so maybe that would be a good chance to introduce her to them in a safe environment. Hopefully that would help avoid her becoming something horrible and dangerous in the future. She-Who-Knits would never torment the house elves again if he could help it – not even the vicious little Outer Plain rejects deserved that. He'd fucked up bad in their last blanket-conference and she was still paying the emotional price. Even if it took hours of hugs, he'd help her through this. Stupid future knowledge.

The first class was in the greenhouses and had a long walk, but he could sleep in until almost the last minute. No one was early to Herbology, except for maybe Neville. People could trickle in late as they were setting up and not get docked points or get in trouble. Harry was just going to...go...back...to-

A loud bark by his ear sent him shooting straight upright, knocking Hedwig off the bed in the process. Looking at him like he was a wild and dangerous idiot (which he guessed he was), Hedwig fluttered over to his trunk and glared at him. Clutching his wand in one hand, Harry tried to calm down, taking several deep breaths.

"What is it, girl? I was trying to get some sleep," Harry said calmly, trying not to piss off the magical creature of Wisdom who was also his friend. Hedwig was obviously agitated, hopping from one leg to another.

"Hedwig, is something wrong?" he asked. The owl bounced up and down in front of him, somehow looking even more worried.

"What?!" Harry yelled, leaping out of bed and scrambling for his pants and robe. "Who's in trouble, girl? Where?"

Hedwig quickly walked over to the copy of _Hogwarts, a History_ sitting closed on his trunk and thumped it with her beak. Harry paused, half into his robes, confused.

"What, there isn't a class with that-" he started to say, then it hit him. Hermione's favorite book.

"Is it Hermione?" he demanded of the bird. Hedwig bounced up and down again, confirming his worst fears. "Shit, shit. Okay. Where is she?" Hedwig looked at him pityingly again. "Right, yes or no question. Okay. Is she in the Great Hall?" Hedwig shook her head no.

"The corridors somewhere?" Nope.

"The...outside, the school grounds, maybe the greenhouses?" he asked. No several times.

"Oh no. The hospital wing?" he asked in horror. Hedwig bounced once, quickly, flapping her wings. "Fuck fuck fuck. Was she attacked, Hedwig?" Hedwig bounced again, then shoved her head toward the door.

"Right. I've got to go. Right. Need backup and a plan. Fuck it, I'll plan as I go. Backup is a secondary objective." He turned to Hedwig again. "If I'm not back tonight, girl, find me. I'll have gone into hiding with Hermione." Hedwig nodded once, not arguing.

Harry grabbed his book satchel and strapped it to his back, leaving his hands free. Checking his wand holster, he glanced around the room he might not be able to return to ever again, then sprinted out the door at full speed.

If Hermione was in danger, simply being in the hospital wing might not protect her. Worst case scenario: a Death Eater plot to kill her, possibly Voldemort's shade. He wouldn't have time to find the perpetrator or convince anyone of the danger, so he might simply have to run away with her. If she was stable, he could get them to the wilderness, maybe run through the Forbidden Forest until they reached a road. Then the Knights Bus into central London and disappear into the mundane world. If she couldn't leave her bed yet, he'd just have to guard her with his life.

Blowing through the common room at full speed, he almost ran over a Second Year, who swore at him as he ran out the portrait hole. Best plan for both possibilities. Find out her medical state. Hopefully, she'd be awake so he could get some answers, fast. If not, covertly capture and interrogate a classmate or other bystander for information about the attack. Then find out who did it and kill the motherfucker who DARED- no, no wait, revenge wasn't the point, survival was. Get away safe, plan, strike back.

"Get your priorities straight, Potter," he growled to himself. If only his fucking magic was working. Didn't matter, you worked with what you had. He had decades on-the-job training fighting Dark wizards and Death Eaters. He had a "can do" attitude and brave friends. He had a steak knife hidden in his boot from dinner last night. Maybe, _maybe_ he enough magic for one weak cutting curse – he'd have to aim for something soft, like the neck. Crying about it wouldn't help anyone. He'd just make do. Always had before.

Racing down the corridors at breakneck speed, Harry spotted Ron at the bottom of the floating central stairway and quickly parkoured down to meet him. Hardly breaking his stride, a plan was already forming in his head and his game face was on.

* * *

Reaching the hospital wing undetected had been easy. After hitting morning traffic in the halls, he simply ghosted in behind some Second and Third Year Hufflepuffs who'd been traveling in a pack, using them to avoid stares at the "famous Harry Potter" and his ever-so-interesting scar. The fewer people that remembered him being here this morning, the better.

Edging around some armor stands, he reached the doors to the hospital wing main ward. This was it. Inching the door open, he looked for the...there, the doorbell to alert Madam Pomfrey to someone entering the ward. It was triggered when someone crossed the doorway, aimed at adult knee height from a table next to the entryway, keyed to her office, main desk, and a ring on her finger. It was how she always knew when someone was in the ward, either needing medical assistance or bugging her patients. He wasn't sure which annoyed her more. Looking around, he could see the front desk wasn't currently manned.

Opening the door another few inches, Harry slide inside like a shadow, pressing himself against the inside of the doors. No one in sight, the front desk was still clear. Carefully dropping to the ground, Harry slide across the floor, towards the first beds. Combat crawling on his elbows and toes into cover as fast as he could, Harry reviewed what he knew of the terrain. The beds had curtains, but his brief initial glance showed only one bed with them drawn at least part way around. That was what he'd head for first.

Looking around carefully, Harry scampered across to the other side of the room and the beds there, staying as low as he could while still moving quietly and quickly. Hitting a row of beds again, he started crawling under them until he reached his target. Pausing under the bed next to the drawn curtains, he waited quietly, trying to listen for the slightest noise.

"Mr. Potter," he heard from inside the curtains, "stop playing around and get over here now before Madam Pomfrey notices you."

Leaping to his feet, Harry quickly ducked inside the sectioned off area to stand next to Hermione's bed. The young witch was sitting on top of the bed, legs swinging over the side, looking at him and rolling her eyes.

"How did-" he started.

"Really Harry," she interrupted, "I shouldn't be surprised. Who else would have overreacted far enough to try to sneak in to see me like that? I heard your trainers squeak on the floor once and cast a mirror surface charm on a curtain on the other side of the room to watch you crawling along the floor. Good thing the hospital wing is so clean, or your clothes would be filthy by now." Pausing for a second, she swallowed nervously.

"Also, uhh...I could feel your magical signature from the other side of the curtains. I've spent enough time around you to, err, know your magic anywhere. And, apparently, my magical aura...uh...is about four feet wide right now," she admitted.

"That's...uhh...okay," Harry said, not entirely sure how to react to that one. Intel on his mission came first. "So. What happened?" he asked pointedly.

"Just a Pimple Jinx in the girl's bathroom. I think one of the Third Years assumed I was your girlfriend. She didn't appear to like that idea and suggested strongly that my face would look better covered in huge boils."

"That's, that's...you look fine now, I guess," he said, sort of running out of steam. His previous panic simply evaporated into the air, leaving him shaken.

"You guess, Harry?" she said archly, glaring at him.

"Uh. I mean, you look beautiful as always, Hermione. I like your shoes," he said, as smoothly as possible for his gender.

"Good save, Mr. Potter," she said, smirking at him. "Madam Pomfrey's potion cleared it right up. Better than the counter-jinx and no possibility of magical backlash on a failure, risking permanent curse scaring. She commented on how...fast it worked. The power of a healing potion is apparently dependent at least partially on the magical power of the witch or wizard in question. That is why they are mostly ineffectual on mundanes but will still work on squibs, just not as well in some cases."

Looking down nervously again, she shifted on the bed and started breathing a little fast. "I'm...I'm guessing they work so well for me because of...of my magic," she started, talking more and more rapidly.

"I had Madam Pomfrey measure it with a quick aura test, making her promise not to tell anyone the results, which I was allowed to do as it was an optional medical test and thus covered by the Healer-Patient confidentiality laws; those only require her to reveal the results to a parent or guardian if they specifically asked or if it related directly to a medical condition and as my parents are non-magical, they wouldn't really have a chance as non-magicals aren't really allowed in Hogwarts and anyway that is a silly rule as, if anything, they would be _less _dangerous to the Statute if they knew all about Hogwarts, and anyway the castle has some of the best muggle repelling charms anywhere, which is a very rude word if you ask me – it isn't like it is someone's fault if they weren't born with magic and there are _far _more of them than of us, so really we're the freakish ones and oh, oh god Harry, I'm a freak and my powers are off the charts, my aura is stronger than most adult witches already, and, and I could have a magical core potential that might surpass Dumbledore's and why can you even stand to talk to me now after last night, why don't you think I'm a freak and, and you know I'll go evil and do...do horrible things!"

Hermione had shifted so quickly from babbling nerdgirl to breaking down and crying, Harry almost didn't catch her before she fell off the bed. Carefully sliding in beside her on the hospital bed, he tried to sit her upright but with no success. She collapsed into his arms again, weeping uncontrollably, clutching his robes and saying something about never reading another book, knowledge being too dangerous, and her Dark Powers already having started corrupting Lavender, Fay, Parvati, and Sally.

"Who the hell are Fay and Sally?" Harry wondered to himself. The other two were her roommates. Maybe they were as well? He didn't remember most of the girls very well.

"Doesn't really matter right now, Potter," he yelled at himself in his head, "Focus on the crying girl genius superwitch in your arms who can accidentally reprogram brains and melt steel when she's upset." He was still making hushing sounds and gently rubbing her back, but she didn't show any signs of calming down yet. At least the flesh wasn't melting off his bones, so maybe she wasn't angry at him. Yet.

Damn, Harry knew spilling the details of her future last night had been a mistake. She'd seemed shaken but calm when she'd finally crawled back out from under his covers and left to return to her dorm room. Before then, she had asked intelligent and logical questions and had seemed to be relatively calm about the whole thing.

But later that night, on the way up to the Astronomy tower for midnight class, she'd seemed to be avoiding him. When he tried to confront her about it in the corridors on the way back, she'd told him she just needed time to think. It looked like that hadn't worked so well.

Now she had medical confirmation of some of his story. She was very magically powerful already and had huge potential. She knew about Voldemort's rise, the Fall of Hogwarts, the Hunt, freeing the Elves, and even some of the stuff about the damn Bargain. She thankfully didn't know which of her new friends were going to die and how. He didn't know if she could have survived knowing that.

* * *

Tuesday's extensive and through medical testing hadn't gone well for Harry. Hermione had tried to tag along to the hospital wing late Tuesday afternoon, but he convinced her that she'd only get shooed out again by Madam Pomfrey. Also, he had to stay all night and she wouldn't be allowed. She'd pouted but only as a token resistance, to show that he owed her a future favor to make up for his crass actions. Girls were kind of evil that way.

The next morning (Wednesday), he woke up to another familiar sight: Madam Pomfrey standing over his bed. And she wasn't smiling. She told him she'd already gone over the results with Dumbledore then gave him the details.

"Mr. Potter, your magical core is intact and appears undamaged, and there doesn't seem to be anything obviously wrong with your magic," she said, frowning.

"However, you just don't appear to have much of it right now. Your magical potential is calculated from your current magical capacity (measured through slowly and carefully filling up your magical core with a neutral power source and tracking the resulting magical pressure) and the expected growth over your maturation. Yours is on the low side of the top range." Peering over her clipboard, she made sure he was paying attention.

"That is quite good. It means that if you are healthy, you should never really have any trouble casting strong spells and should excel at whatever class of magic you might have a natural aptitude for. Overall, it is quite good news.

"However, you don't currently seem to be correctly generating magical power. This is a little understood part of a magic, but it is generally known that food and sleep help recharge one's magical energy reserves. This is the energy depleted in performing spells and other magical feats, such as ritual magic, broom riding, transfiguration, and even to some extent potion making."

Harry looked confused (because he was). "I don't understand. If magical power just refills naturally, why isn't mine working right? Can I just take potions to refill it?"

Madam Pomfrey sighed and looked slightly annoyed. "Yes, the Headmaster asked me a similar question. It doesn't work like that. We could give you a neutral artificial magical substrate, that is how we measure core potential, after all, and it is a treatment for some core collapse syndromes, but it wouldn't actually be usable in your spells. Any you tried would just fizzle and leak the neutral magic back into the air. Maybe some ritual could refill you with attuned power, but those kinds of things are usually very Dark and aren't a cure. The power wouldn't last, it would just leak out again if you weren't regenerating naturally to that level."

She pinched her nose, obviously tired from working all night on the tests. "This isn't a bucket that is just so big and gets filled up. Think of it more like a balloon that stretches around your power. The balloon can only get so big, your magical core capacity, but it needs to be filled gradually. If it doesn't fill up naturally and slowly, or with your own attuned power, tears or stress points could develop in your core. Over time, that could result in a permanent loss of magical power or even death. It is much better to just rest and recover naturally, which is why we don't just shove a potion into people who get magically exhausted to artificially refresh them.

"From what we can tell, your magical power is refilling, just very, very slowly. Over time, it should get better as your overall magic level increases towards your potential as you mature. But that is a long, long process and might never result in your core returning to a natural power regeneration rate.

"Let us get to what this means for you, Mr. Potter. I've asked your Head of House to join us for this meeting. I hope you don't mind, but she needed to know the details so she can help arrange anything that needs to be done to assist you in your classes."

McGonagall walked up to his bed, looking like she'd sucked on an entire crate of lemons. And...based on her reddened eyes, she had been crying. Dear gods, this was bad wasn't it.

"Mr. Potter," the older woman said, "because of concerns about your magical health, we will be asking you to avoid all spell casting without direct teacher supervision. That means household and personal grooming charms as well. We will find a Housemate of yours who is proficient in such charms and is willing to assist you whenever necessary. I know this is awkward for you, but this is a health issue and not a punishment. Your Housemate will understand and respect this or answer to me."

She took a deep breath and continued. "You will be attending all classes along with the rest of your House, but if at any time your feel in any way weak or faint, you will be required to alert the teacher who will evaluate your current magical state." Here McGonagall stared intensely at him, daring him to argue.

"This medical condition of yours leaves you extremely vulnerable to magical exhaustion, much more so than most children your age. For now, any magic will be exhausting and dangerous at the best of times for you. You will be allowed to keep your wand, but if I find you've been practicing magic without supervision, I will confiscate it, only returning it to you immediately before classes. Do you understand the seriousness of this, Mr. Potter?"

"Y-yes Professor," he said, not having to put on too much of an act to appear scared out of his mind. "I do. I...it doesn't feel good when I use too much magic and it scares my friends when I...when I don't feel well. I won't disappoint you."

The Professor's face softened, slightly, and she nodded her head. "Good, thank you for taking this as seriously as it deserves, Mr. Potter. I would like to remind you that today after my class Doctor Tonks will be in the hospital wing for your first session. She is a registered Healer, so if you want to discuss your medical issues with her she is required to keep them in confidence, as am I and all of the teachers here at Hogwarts. Do you have any question, Mr. Potter?"

Harry felt sick but didn't really think any more information would help him. He shook his head no. They poked him a little more, gave him some more nasty potions, then kicked him out of bed to get ready for breakfast and his third day of classes.

* * *

"Okay Mr. Potter, story time," Hermione said, grinning at him. They were both back under the covers on his bed Wednesday night after a thoroughly interesting day of him trying to avoid doing any magic. They had hours until Astronomy at midnight and they were allowed to sleep in the next day some to make up for it, but most students simply slept until the prefects woke them for class. With Hermione in his bed, he knew they weren't getting much sleeping done tonight.

Harry blinked at his own odd thoughts. That sounded really, really wrong, even in his head.

Thankfully, all their classes yesterday and today, including the one-time-only Gryff. Orientation – there were 142 staircases at Hogwarts apparently, who knew – had been very short and very magic free. Herbology, History of Magic, and Charms had been 15 minute introductions to the subject, not full class periods. Just "hello" and "here's a handout." And no spell casting. Except for, sort of, McGonagall's class.

Transfiguration Wednesday afternoon had been worrying. She just had them jump right into transforming a matchstick. Harry figured he needed to get it right the first time or he might not have enough juice to try again. It worked well enough for him, better than he'd expected; apparently it didn't take as much magic to do a tiny needle as some larger stuff. The key was technique, something he had plenty of from his first time through. He was still weak after and had only managed to get it sort of pointy and a little shiny looking before he stared sweating.

As he was working, he could feel the Professor's eyes boring into his skull, waiting for him to waver even a little bit, but he'd gotten that far almost as fast as Hermione had and it was still a lot more than anyone else in class. Hers was much better looking, obviously, and a lot more silver.

She hadn't even bragged, just smiled gently and congratulated him when they both got House points for a job well done. In fact, all that day she'd been treating him like a bit of a cripple, ever since he'd told her (briefly) what had happened with the tests. She'd even used her "being brave" face instead of crying over him like she so obviously wanted to.

But now, back under his covers for another covert meeting, she seemed to be treating him normally again. She'd looked surprised when, on reviewing his day with him, he'd mentioned the Mind Healer visit that afternoon. After he started explaining what they'd talked about, Hermione immediately stopped asking questions and had also ceased acting like he had a death sentence. The change had been almost instantaneous.

Which was odd, but maybe asking questions about someone's mental health hit too close to home what with her own insecurities about her magical accident. He briefly wondered if she'd been taken to muggle therapists because of her accidental magic, but decided to extend the same privacy to her and not ask.

She had seemed pleased that Harry was talking to the Mind Healer, but if she thought it would help he knew she was expecting too much. It wasn't like it was really going to do any good for him – he was just playing along to get the idea more popular with the school and other adults in the hopes that someone who really needed help, like Neville, could someday get the care he obviously needed.

He'd talked to Dr. Tonks ("please, call me Andromeda") about his day, the medical tests, and how he'd felt about the results. She'd kept the conversation light and seemed to just want to get to know him. He was fine with that. He'd also talked about his friends (pretending to have just met them, of course) and had tried to mention stuff that might get her thinking about people who'd lost relatives like him (Neville) and those raised outside of the magical world (Hermione) and some of the issues they faced. Maybe the Doctor would take the hint.

Hermione and the issues muggle-raised magical children faced had been on his mind a lot recently. Tom, Hermione, and himself had had a rather bad time of it, maybe Tom worse than them. That kind of damage had to be a regular thing – strange that no one seemed to care. He wouldn't be surprised if the majority of Dark wizards doing world-damaging things over the years had, in fact, been raised in the mundane world.

Not caring about magical society and having been shown from an early age how little it cared for them certainly would explain a bloody rampage or two ever few decades. The Witch Queen had fit that profile as well as Tom.

Hermione had clearly seen magical society's issues, but her solutions were desperate and poorly measured. Harry knew he'd do anything he could to help Hermione find solutions that didn't involve millions dying this time, and he believed she could do it some day. But right now, she was bouncing up and down on his bed under the covers, waiting for him to spill the secrets of the future. Great.

"What did you want to know this time, Hermione?" he asked, a little leery of how excited she was.

"Tell me about...myself," she said, grinning.

"I really shouldn't," he started.

"I know, I know. I become a real jerk or something, right? No wait, did we date and it didn't work out and now you're my bitter ex and that's why you won't say anything?" she said, teasingly.

"No, Hermione, we never dated. I just...I don't think it is fair to other people. A lot of this is personal, and not just for you. So. How about things that aren't about other people?"

"Okay," she said quickly, eager to get anything she could, "but you have to tell me everything about what I do, if it doesn't directly involve private things about other people. You can just avoid identifying information about them, I guess."

"Ahh," he said, sweat starting to bead on his brow, "I'm not very comfortable..."

"Harry James Potter, you will spill the secrets of the future for me as requested. I demand it," she said, pouting at him now. Harry blew out a big breath and seem to lose all strength to resist.

"Fine. Okay. First things first. It isn't a nice story. Let me know if you want me to stop. You see...a lot of people die." Hermione's grin fades immediately and she looks serious again.

"Harry, I need to know about this stuff if I'm going to be prepared," she said grimly. "Don't worry about me, I can take it. Important stuff first, not how many kid I have or anything."

"Okay. Well, first of all, Voldemort basically wins. He takes over the Magical government of Great Britain and from there, the mundane one. The Queen is under mind control from about Spring 2000 onward.

"That is after he destroys Hogwarts, kills a bunch of current and former students, kills a bunch of teachers and adults, destroys the Hogwarts Express, Hogsmeade, and a great deal of magical and mundane London. It gets really bad. We...we spend a lot of time looking for those magical soul items of his but we can't find the last of them. It is just you, me, and another student looking for them after Hogwarts falls. A lot of our friends died defending Hogwarts and...and only a few make it out alive. It...I really don't want to talk about that."

Hermione is now holding his hand and squeezing it supportively. He takes a few deep breaths and continues the horror show.

"This is...sort of where it gets personal for you, Hermione. Are you sure...?" he asked, hopeful that she'd been shocked out of wanting to know her future-self's life by what he'd already said. But she just silently nodded her head yes.

"Damn," he started.

"Language!" she said, scolding him but still holding his hand.

"Err, sorry. Right. Hermione, there are...an underclass of magical beings called 'House Elves.' They are bound to magical families to do their housework for them – they are essentially slaves." Hermione's face was darkening dangerously fast and he hurried to continue.

"Yes, you hated this immediately, obviously. Any right thinking person would from the mundane world. Slavery is clearly wrong. But this is magically enforced servitude. If the magical bond is broken, the backlash leaves a gaping hole in the elf's soul, their magic leaks out, and...and they die soon after.

"There is no known cure for this except for another magical family to bond with the elf. If someone is unhappy with an elf, they'll 'give them clothes,' the ritual way of breaking the magic linking them with the family. And the elf most often will die because of this. I've seen it happen before. In fact, many of these 'freed' elves end up at Hogwarts, and the castle becomes their family." Here her eyes blazed with rage as her mind whirred almost audibly.

"Harry, our...our food, our rooms, the way our clothes and bedding are magically cleaned every day. Those aren't just complicated charms, they're...slave labor?" She was rising dangerously loud in volume and Harry tried to hush her.

'Shh, please. You'll wake up my roommates. Yes, it is, and that is bad. But Hogwarts is actually a haven for elves. They aren't mistreated and are allowed all the freedom that this horrible magic allows. Every elf is born into a bond and there is no escape but death. And, possibly worst of all, they are magically compelled to _like _it. They get aggressive and stubborn if they aren't allowed to cook and clean for people."

Now Hermione was almost vibrating with rage. He tried to calm her down by stroking her hand where it held his, but it didn't appear to be working. She was almost crushing his fingers now.

He tried again. "I keep telling you, Hermione. I agree with how you felt before and how you're obviously feeling now. It needs to end. But..." here he paused, not wanting to go on. "But you figured out a way, long after you graduated. It...it didn't go well."

"You mean, it...it hurt the elves, it didn't work?" she asked, fear in her eyes.

"No, no. They were, uhh, after they were fine. But," he paused again. He didn't want to tell her but he knew he had to, no matter how much it would hurt. It couldn't happen again that way, he would stop her if necessary.

"When the elves were freed," he explained, "they immediately turned on their old masters. Almost all of them. A few of the remaining newly rich in Great Britain, those who hadn't enslaved their house elves for centuries, and most of older Light families with elves survived. Almost all of the Light families with elves were, at that point, living in France and Germany. Their elves just left, usually without a word.

"Those who had mistreated or enslaved them over generations... Hermione, hundreds of families died, most of them not Death Eaters or even Voldemort supporters. Entire households were killed, to the last man, woman, and child, cut down by the beings they'd been abusing for centuries. It was...a slaughter. These elves were already in their houses, keyed to their wards. Even if they didn't have strong enough magic, if they were too old, too young, or too...abused...they still had kitchen knives. Some chose the knives even if they had the power to, to do it magically. It was symbolic to them.

"After that, the elves disappeared for many years and magical Europe was sent reeling. That was when Voldemort attacked the mainland, mostly with younger, single men and the members of poorer Death Eater families, those who hadn't been able to afford the fees related to owning elves of their own. The other part of his army was muggles, mind controlled or commanded by those who were."

Hermione was shaking her head violently, trying to pull out of his grasp. "No, Hermione," he said quickly. "It wasn't you who did this. It isn't your fault. The person who made this mistake, the one who cast the spell over the entire world to free all the elves, all at once, with no attempts to help them adjust or remove people from harm's way, she was lost in the Dark and thoughtless and hurting. She just decided to do it anyway and damn the consequences, and she _wasn't you_. You never need to become that woman who was so wounded and afraid that she made such a dangerous choice. And it was a choice, just as you can choose _not to do this_. Do you understand?"

Hermione was still shaking, but no longer trying to run from him. She jerked her head up and down and dragged him in for another rib crushing Hermione-hug. He returned it just as eagerly, gently holding her trembling body as they sat there under the blankets. It was so easy to forget that she was still just eleven. She always acted so much older, but there was still a scared little kid in that giant intellect somewhere. And now she was afraid of herself, of what she thought she would become. Why the fuck was he doing this to her?

After a few minutes of straight hugging, she finally calmed down some, breathing deep and slow again. Pulling back, she whispered a thank you, then stared at him again, crouched under the covers with her elbows propped on the bed. Seeing her eyes now almost made him cry.

It was clear she was already working through the implications: how to do it better and with safety in mind, how to avoid mass causalities, how to subdue them first or deprogram them without damaging psychological shock or needing real brainwashing to do it. And all without even knowing the details of how the unbinding had worked. The details weren't important to her, just extra data for her to include once she had it. Her mind was a machine, _her_ machine, and she'd now set it to work on this important problem. She wouldn't give up until it was solved to her satisfaction.

Her brown eyes were now cold and determined, not the happy eyes of an 11-year-old he'd seen earlier that day but those of a much older witch, one who felt responsibility burdening her soul. It almost made him weep. Every sentence he spoke stripped a little more innocence from her and her hated himself for it.

"Harry," she said quietly. "that can't have been easy to tell me. But I understand. It is wrong to free the oppressed like that, without thought to how to help them live free or who they'll hurt in the process. Especially if those who end up suffering were not the original oppressors or played only a small part. If I ever...if I try it again, will you help. Please. Please, Harry? Don't let me do something like that again." She wasn't crying now so much as leaking tears, her voice steady and hard as granite.

"I swear, Hermione. It won't happen again. I won't let it. You'll find another way," he said firmly, squeezing her hand. She nodded quietly, not paying attention to the tears still dripping down her face.

"I understand it now, Harry," she said softly, "why you were afraid of me. Why you reacted the way...the way you did. What I did, that was...you must hate me, or...or at least _her_." Not looking at him, she rocked back and forth for a while, thinking.

"All that death...in the end...did you kill me?" she asked suddenly, staring into his eyes.

"Gods no!" he hissed, trying to remember to stay quiet. "I would never...you were still my friend, even if you had made a mistake."

"Then what...what put that fear in your eyes?" she asked, voice now shaking. "You hurt so much when you saw me on that train platform. You were ready to kill me. What could...oh no, what did I do to you? Someone you loved died in that...mistake?"

At some point, Harry had stopped holding Hermione's hand but he couldn't remember when. She snatched them both up and gripped them almost painfully hard.

"Harry, what else did I do. What happened? You have to tell me," she commanded. He obeyed robotically.

"In the Dark ritual to send my soul back in time," he said in a horrible perfectly normal tone of voice, "the details of which were gleaned from countless acts of human experimentation, the power for which she Bargained from the Queen of the Faeries in exchange for her own eyes and the binding of the soul of her own lover and wife – in that ritual my old-future-time's Hermione Granger, the Witch Queen, sacrificed my lover and wife to power the great spell. She killed my love in front of me with a silver knife and fed her life's blood into a ritual basin." Harry wasn't sure why he couldn't feel. He should be screaming or crying or shouting or something, but he just felt numb.

Oh, he was trying very hard not to freak out, not to frighten Hermione any more but for something like this...it really shouldn't matter. He hadn't mourned a single day for his dead wife and now he was explaining this almost clinically an 11-year-old. It didn't make sense.

Harry was humming and tapping his fingers on the bed, trying to figure out what was wrong with him. But it was all like a dream now. What was he even thinking about and why did he feel he should be in pain? It was Hermione's questions about her future, the ritual, and-

Hermione seemed to suddenly choke and sob and hiccup all at once, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she fainted dead away, falling sideways under the covers.

* * *

It had been too much, obviously. But he couldn't just say no when she'd demanded details about what had happened to her, claiming forewarned was forearmed. He'd had to comfort her for almost an hour last night before she seemed to calm down. At least she hadn't asked details about their friends or the final ritual, so she didn't...didn't know-

Sitting in the hospital wing with her now, remembering how poorly last night had gone, Harry rocked Hermione gently in his arms, humming a cheery little tune. "Shh, be careful, Hermione," he whispered into her ear, "the walls have medical monitoring Charms that might be active." She instantly froze and seemed to gather herself together through sheer force of will, stuffing all emotions into some magical part of her brain that obeyed her will unerringly.

"Thank you, Harry," she whispered to him, but not before she wiped her eyes and her nose on his robe. Eww. She knew that he knew that she did that on purpose. Revenge for his reminding her of operational security. Girls were evil, naturally. No Dark rituals required.

"We can talk about it tonight," he said quietly. "Just keep it together until then and read up on the Silencing Charm. The smaller the area you need to cast it on, the easier it is to get it to work, so you should be able to just use it on a blanket. I know the emotional crash will be bad, but...but I'll help you. I'm not going anywhere, Hermione."

Taking her hand and looking into her eyes, he said quietly, "I have been and always shall be your friend."

Hermione's brown eyes grew wider than he thought possible and she blushed deeply. For a long moment, she simply stared back into his eyes, then she frowned and looked down at the awkward sign he'd forced her hand into along with his, the two of them pressed together with the fingers oddly folded up. Then she collapsed into giggles and snorted more snot onto his robes.

"You prat!" she shouted, pulling away, punching him hard on the arm, and laughing. "Don't quote Star Trek at me! I'm having a serious emotional crisis here!" Harry grinned at her suddenly smiling, if slightly damp and runny, face. Then in an instant his smile was gone.

"Ms. Granger? What is going on over there?" came Pomfrey's loud voice from across the room. Her footsteps clacked on the floor as she came to scold someone within an inch of their life.

"Run Harry, save yourself!" Hermione whispered, smirking at him. He slide past the curtain and ran for the door. He could only pray he made it in time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Harry Potter and the Witch Queen**  
by _TimeLoopedPowerGamer_

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter.

**Summary: ** Harry Potter never actually beat Voldemort, but rather fought him to a standstill while Europe burned around them. Finding himself an unwilling part of a dark ritual to send him back in time 20 years, he is surprised to see how Dumbledore reacts to proof of obvious child abuse (Harry's), how 11 year old super-genius and Witch Queen in training Hermione reacts to actually having a socially competent friend (Harry), and how much easier it is to shrug off the insults of munchkins when you're a grizzled war veteran.

But there is one huge problem: being sent back blew out his magic entirely. Just waving his wand knocked him out the first time he tried it. Can Hermione help him though his classes even with his magic almost unusable? Will Harry be able to find the secrets to actually killing the Dark Lord and saving his friends from a horrible future without blowing his cover, or even getting mistaken for the Dark Lord himself? Will Neville Longbottom get better grades than him?

**On Content: **Canon-Harry lives in a dark world. This one is darker, with evil turned up to 11 and actual adult situations: everyone is more magical and dangerous, witches and wizards are preternaturally attractive and seductive, people are meaner, magical creatures are horrifying and have back stories, Harry has worse mental issues, teenagers are hornier, villains actually torture and kill people before the last book, etc. Rated M for Maliciousness.

**Author's note on updates: **I've finished editing, proofreading, and posting the buffer I'd originally written for Witch Queen last year. Now I need to scale back updates for at least a little bit.

This update is a little slimmer than usual and barely posted on schedule, but the standard length chapters (9-12k words) should come out every two weeks on Sundays. I'll put details and the new schedule on my Profile page.

After doing a minor cleanup in the initial chapters, I intend to build up a buffer again to at least two updates ahead. We'll see what happens after that. As always, thanks for reading.

Next update 2013-02-10.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Everything pointed to his success. The old fool didn't suspect a thing, and even if he did, there was no possibility he had anything as Dark as a soul jewel or a jinn bottle in which to trap him. Oh no, not the Hero of the Light. That would be beneath him. Looking out on the yammering field of students, he could see the all First Years at the tables now. They were all so weak, no threats there. The other teachers were oblivious to his presence. Because really, who would suspect after all this time?

His prize was here now, he was sure of it. With luck and great skill he had been able to escape from Gringotts with this body intact after finding himself too late to steal it from their vaults. Losing his host there would have crippled this next attempt at the Stone of Life, key part of a potion that was capable of returning a bound soul to the mortal plain. Specifically, _his_ soul. Using it, a true resurrection would be an easy thing to accomplish. And then...then they would see. They would all see. He had not yet even _begun_ to show the world his true powers. To be struck down so early. And...by a child. He still didn't understand how.

Yes, there he was now – sorted into Gryffindor, of course, house of the Light and of brave idiots. His servant turned obediently to give him a better view. Look at him sitting there. So small. So fragile. The boy could be broken with a snap of the fingers. But not yet. Not until everyone knew of his return.

See how the little brat is too timid to even look up at the table full of his teachers. See the little mudblood bitch fawning over him, the only one of his year even willing to talk directly to their so-called hero. The Boy-Who-Lived. Ha. As a shade, he could see even from here that the boy's magical aura was almost non-existent, weaker even than the mudblood beside him. Fears that this child might somehow still represent a threat to him were evaporating rapidly.

* * *

**Rage**. It filled his soul and his mind. How _dare_ those _muggles_, those human _scum, _worse even than the blood traitors he'd fought in the last war, even **_touch _**one of the Blood of Atlantis! At least the dangerous mudbloods had _magic_ in their muggle-tainted veins. It was their emotional and social connections to those in the accursed muggle world that made them his foes, not their magic.

Magic was magic, and that ended the question. Power would out and, after all, pure-blood lines had to come from somewhere. Those who bowed down to him would survive, at least as servants. The best of them would be allowed to serve in all but the most important positions. Their children's children could be trusted, removed far enough from the muggle poison that none would doubt their blood and dedication, and they would command honor and be as equals to any in his service. Why didn't the muggle-born see this?

Ah, but those magicless muggle scum that so misused the children of Atlantis, those dead bodies still walking, they and all other muggles were alive only because those with the power, those like him, _allowed _them continued life! This, this was unspeakably, impossibly wrong. They would _pay_, and the boy would know why and who had delivered this _justice_. He would be sure of that.

There had been half-heard whispers, rumors at the teacher's table and before faculty meetings, something about where the Potter boy had been since disappearing after, ha, "defeating" him. He'd ordered his servant to casually corner Professor Sprout, the weakest link in that security chain obviously, and ask her some innocent, stammered questions about the boy. The kind of thing everyone was asking. But it was only to bring the topic to the front of her mind, not because he wanted to hear her babbling replies. When the time was right, he slipped unseen into her thoughts, like a black snake on a moonless night in the deepest woods.

And that was where his mind went blank and his thoughts filled with visions of blood. How he'd avoided killing Sprout, he did not know. But she was still alive and walking away with her mind intact when he regained some small measure of control over himself and his magic again. His host must have finished the conversation on his own but the damage his rage had done to the weakling inside whom he hid was...not miniscule. It could be repaired. He already had some ideas on that front, starting with powerful potions and proceeding to unicorn blood and the eventual Potion of Resurrection.

But gods, the information gained was...was horrible. That this half-blood had been his foe for a short, short time was irrelevant. They were as one blood, brothers in all but fact, compared to those vile walking shit piles who squatted in their magicless hovels and thought themselves masters of this world. And the boy's magic – that it could have been damaged because of their actions...no punishment was severe enough. His almost limitless imagination for torture and cruelty was failing him for the first time ever.

Maybe...maybe the boy could become an ally. He could find whether the lad had any sympathy for the thrice-cursed muggles (and really, how could he by now?). If possible, he would offer the boy a place by his side. Yes. Seeing their young hero join him would crush the last pathetic resistance from the so-called Followers of the Light. And if the lad did have some strange power, best it be used in his service rather than against him. Curing the boy of whatever magical disability he now suffered from would be a way to show good will. And really, how much danger could there be even if the boy rejected his offers afterward? In that case, the Boy-Who-Lived would simply die, like all his other foes.

So it was decided. He would find out what could reduce even one of the Blood to a near muggle-tainted squib, he would groom the boy to become his most loyal servant, and he would find the elements of his own inevitable resurrection and return to the world once again, to rule as their leader forever. The Boy-Who-Lived would be offered a cure for his strange affection and Lord Voldemort would rise again.

* * *

Their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class Thursday afternoon had started out perfectly normal. The stuttering Professor Quirrell slash Host of Voldemort called roll and only briefly glanced at Harry when his name game up. Then things got weird. He went on a 15 minute rant about the threats that muggles presented to the wizarding world and how _they_ were truly the most dangerous of all creatures, Dark or otherwise. The Professor seemed to be talking directly at Harry the whole time. That was new.

"A-and you s-see, children, t-that those raised _outside _a c-culture t-that _appreciates_ m-magic and all of its b-beauty, d-driven naturally to j-j-jealousy and violence against t-those who w-wield it, are to b-be watched _closely, _least t-they _turn on us_," here Quirrell suddenly glared at Hermione, who shrank back into her seat. Harry was getting more confused by the minute. Had Voldemort told Quirrell to change his lecture? Where was this coming from, and why was he suddenly targeting mundane-born (as Hermione preferred to be called) in his class? Was Hermione now in danger from the shade or Quirrell?

Following that, the Professor simply handed out the class syllabus and told them what to read before the next class. A standard, short first class, other than the mad screed. But then Quirrell told Harry to stay after as everyone else was filing out. Hermione had instantly locked gazes with Harry, knowing as well as he did how stupid it would be to be alone with, essentially, Voldemort. She was obviously suggesting she stay behind as backup.

Nodding to her, he moved to the teachers desk and waited, pointedly not making eye contact with either the Professor or the back of his head. Hermione had ducked down behind the desks and was making a show of quietly shuffling her books around in her satchel. Quirrell didn't seem to notice or, if he did, he didn't care.

"M-m-mister P-P-Potter, t-thank you f-f-for your t-time," said the spiritually compromised teacher. "I just w-w-wanted to say h-how much I am l-looking f-forward to t-t-teaching you in t-the coming y-year. P-p-please know that m-my d-d-door is open if y-you ever n-n-need to t-talk. A-and...beware of t-those who m-m-might pretend to b-be your allies, or e-even your f-f-family, y-yet are in secret p-plotting your people's servitude a-and d-d-doom." He gave Harry a knowing look, as if they were sharing some personal experience the two had in common.

Harry had no idea how to respond to that. "Thank you, Professor. Uhh, I will certainly keep that in mind. Uhh. I'll just be going now, sir, if that is all..."

"Y-yes, h-h-have a g-good day M-Mister P-P-Potter," Quirrell said, smiling a horrible smile at him.

Almost running from the classroom, Harry saw Hermione had also chosen that moment to make her escape. They moved quickly together toward the castle doors, both quietly terrified of the idea of Voldemort taking Harry under his wing. A little sunshine and outdoors would be good after that.

* * *

"H-Harry," Hermione said shakily, "this isn't...it isn't really p-proper. Maybe we...AH, ah...we should stop." She was twitching, barely able to sit still. "I m-mean, under my robes and everything? AH! No, no, I t-think we should s-stop this experiment now."

After the massively strange DADA class, Harry and Hermione had decided to go out and get some sun. Thinking this was a good chance to show Hermione some of his hard-earned knowledge about his special skills, he'd suggested a walk by the edge of the Forbidden Forest. She agreed after he reassured her that they would stay out of anything even approaching Forbidden levels of wooded areas. They wandered over into some high grass and bushes, just behind but still in sight of Hagrid's hut. There, mostly hidden from view, Harry started to show off his magical tongue.

"I m-mean, ack!" Hermione tried to continue, before squawking loudly and twitching violently. "Ah, yes. It isn't like I-I-I don't appreciate this s-s-sort of sharing. Normally, this would, eeee! Be, uhh, very interesting!" Her back arched and she scrabbled in the grass, grabbing it by the handful in an attempt to steady herself. "But please, Harry! I c-can't take much more!" she panted briefly, than practically screamed.

"EEP, get these snakes out of my robes! Now Mr. Potter!"

Looking increasingly sheepish, Harry was whispering frantically in little hisses, trying to figure out why all the snakes he'd whistled up were trying to burrow as deep into his good friend Hermione's clothing as possible. The only responses he got were stuff like, "thisss one isss warm, ssspeaker" and "we do not wisssh to leave your littermate'sss presssence." This information did not seem to be reassuring Hermione, who was squirming as numerous grass snakes and, most worryingly, one magical adder crawled around inside her robes.

Getting snakes to show up was easy enough: just be a Parseltongue and whistle loudly while thinking firmly of snakes. The first time Luna saw him speak in Parseltongue up close, she'd asked about how he did it. Then she followed up by asking if it worked if he sang, whistled, hummed, or played a musical instrument while thinking about snakes. In classic Luna style, next came experimentation. Tests showed that though singing and using any kind of reedless wind instrument (things like flutes and recorders) worked, he was much, much better at just whistling and could keep it up longer as well.

Walking in the tall grass on a warm day and whistling up snakes at first brought squeals of joy from his bushy-haired friend. They'd sat down to talk to the playful snakes after several had joined them. Unfortunately, this was soon followed by squeals of horror as all the snakes headed straight for where Hermione sitting. After being warned not to squirm too much to avoid hurting them, she'd tried to stay extremely still. This only seemed to make her more scared and the snakes more friendly.

"It doesn't make any sense, Hermione," Harry said desperately. "They've never done this before. I'm not sure why they are now. They just keep saying you are 'warm' and that they like you and don't want to leave."

"Not. Helping. Potter," she said through clenched teeth.

"Little onesss," he said to the snakes, holding the image of one in his mind to activate the magic, "pleassse come out, my littermate is growing ssscared. We can talk while you ssstay clossse to her. Jussst leave her sssecond ssskinsss for now." Some sliding noises from the snakes, a few muffled sounds of annoyed huffing from Hermione, and a minute later five snakes were calmly curled up in Hermione's lap.

"Thank you Harry," she said primly, much calmer now. "And please thank our new snake friends as well." Harry did, and all four grass snakes and the adder lifted their heads and nodded to Hermione, much to her surprise.

"We need to figure this out now," she said. "I can't imagine what it is about me that so attracts their attention."

"Agreed," Harry replied, He turned to the largest snake, the silver and black adder. "Proud sssnake, I would asssk you a quessstion," he entreated. The large, healthy looking viper raised his sleek head and tasted the air, then nodded quickly. "Of courssse, ssspeaker. Pleassse asssk what you will and I will ssstrive to anssswer to the fullessst."

"Why do you ssseek out sssuch clossse contact with my littermate?" he asked. The adder seemed to squirm closer to Hermione as he lay coiled loosely in her lap.

"Ssshe hasss...that power which keepsss usss aware of our ssselvesss and of thisss tongue," the snake replied.

"Oh," Harry said in English again. "Uh, Hermione, he said whatever keeps them smart and able to talk is what they're cuddling up to you for."

"Ah, so residual magic from my core or perhaps my magical aura?" she suggested.

"Sounds like," Harry replied. "Let me check." Switching again to the adder, he asked the question. "I do not mean to be rude, but isss it sssomething that I do not have enough of that you need from my littermate?"

"That isss correct, ssspeaker," the adder replied. "Her power warmsss out mindsss like your body heat warmsss our coilsss. I asssk your forgivenesss, ssspeaker, but you are not nearly warm enough for usss to sssurvive asss we are, were we in your presssence alone."

"Well," Harry said to Hermione, "that is interesting. It seems like it is in fact either ambient magic produced by your core naturally or your magical aura that they need to stay sentient. That is a little worrying. My magical presence in general is, of course, very, very weak right now. Far too little power to maintain the Parseltongue magic for the snakes at this new level of intelligence, it would appear.

"But it also explains why I'm able to use it at all in my current condition, let alone on five snakes at once. If it merely calls on the Old Magic to activate greater intelligence, it might be powered solely by ambient magical fields." Harry looked worried now.

"They also very much want to remain self-aware. This has never happened to me before, either them being that smart or asking to remain under the spell. Very strange. Maybe," here Harry glanced at Hermione, who also appeared concerned. "Maybe it is only your larger magical aura that is giving them this much intelligence. Or perhaps your own, ah, personal magical issues. It is mind magic, so your extra magical mental layers might be changing how the spell works when powered through you."

"Well, the only moral answer is clear," Hermione immediately replied, her mouth firmly set. She had been stroking the snakes gently while they talked and now moved to encircle them with her arms. "I will need to find a way to maintain their newly found personhood. Any rationale for abandoning them that does not involve needing to save myself or someone else from a situation of immediate and serious personal injury is clearly incorrect and immoral. I currently see no such situation. Thus, I accept this responsibility and will take all of them with me into the castle in secret. Perhaps the greater ambient magical field there will be enough to sustain them on its own. It is a magical castle, after all. If so, I'll arrange some way to keep them inside. If not, I'll...I'll figure something out."

Harry was stunned. Hermione was suggesting smuggling what was technically wildlife into Hogwarts. That had to be against the rules. But her argument was clearly correct and she hadn't even hesitated or complained. Maybe knowing about the horrible decisions her other, alternate-future self had made was causing her to spend more time thinking about the moral issues involved in tough choices. Harry hoped that wouldn't backfire somehow. There were some people in the magical world who genuinely needed to be put down, and put down hard.

He quickly nodded and started talking to the snakes again. Thankfully, they immediately agreed to go with Hermione, still leaving them with three unresolved issues where previously they only had two: how to get the snakes into the castle, why DADA had been so strange earlier that day, and what they were going to do about potions tomorrow with the Slytherins.

* * *

"Maybe he senses I'm weak and is trying something?" Harry said, making another suggestion as they returned from their slightly disastrous walk.

"Hmm," Hermione said, mincing carefully back toward the castle, as one does with all one's pockets, sleeves, and even blouse full of snakes.

"Well, potions should be a breeze after today, eh?" Harry said, smiling. "I don't need to use very much magic at all for these super-easy early potions, so no problems there, and so long as I don't look Snape in the eyes, well...you know."

"Uh huh," Hermione replied, cradling her arms unnaturally in front of her.

"I am so glad for that schedule you worked up with Flitwick and McGonagall, otherwise I'd be really worried about being able to do all the in-class material for Charms and Transfiguration this year. Thanks so much for that."

"Mmm, welcome," she said absentmindedly.

"Hermione, uhh...what's up?" he asked carefully.

"Well, I am covered in snakes still, though I guess you should really have known that part already," she said dry and sarcastically, frowning at him, "and also...uhh...they are still in my aura and I can feel my magic in them. So. Uhh. I'm not sure what that means." Harry continued to walk along, blinking slowly at this latest development.

"Huh. Try something for me?" he asked.

"Of course, Harry," she quickly answered, "you know how much I like scientific experimentation on magical phenomena that generally and sometimes very, very specifically and perversely, resist scientific measurement."

"Err, okay. Well. Try thinking about how they are feeling, sort of."

"Sort. Of. Really?" she asked, giving him a disappointed look.

"Okay. I think they, I mean. It could just be the Parsel-magic you're helping them with. Or you might be supplying them with magic for something else, like a Familiar Link. That is, err, what I think I'm starting to get with Hedwig and what you get later in life with some of your magical companions."

"You are _suggesting_," she hissed at him, but in normal, angry-girl English, not Parseltongue, "that a rare and highly sought-after Familiar relationship, like our headmaster has with a _Phoenix_, has triggered for me with not one, but _five_ snakes, and all at once?"

"Uhhh," Harry said, trying to figure out how to make sense of his own suggestion. "Yes?" he tried, hopefully. Hermione huffed loudly, then made some hushing noises at her upper-left arm.

"Sorry about that dearie, I'm just a little _put out_ with Harry right now and oh wow I'm talking to a snake because I felt it was uncomfortable and now it isn't and it can feel my emotions too – what on Earth have you done, Potter?" she said all in one go. She then turned a steely gaze on him, clearly suggesting that this was all his fault somehow. Which, to be fair, he guessed it was.

"Uh. Sorry?" he tried, eternally optimistic that that would work someday with his female friends.

"Humf. Well. That's settled then. I can't feel the others so they must just be normal snakes. That little spark in them could be because I'm still personally providing their magic to stay smart though the Parsel-magic, not the environmental background magic. Hmm. But this silver and black adder, yes I'm talking about you dearie, I can clearly feel it. Must be a magical one, like is used in some potions- NO, never dear one," she suddenly said to her sleeve.

"I'm talking about other snakes, ones I've not _personally_ been involved in magically imbuing with sentience and then formed a rare and powerful Familiar relationship with and whom I now have a close and growing friendship. Never you, dear little fang." She paused and suddenly relaxed, her face growing very mellow, then she seemed to return from some far off inner space to glare at Harry again.

"Oh my, it seems to understand my moods quite clearly. That is progress. Oh. Right. Mr. Adder is a 'he', by the way, not an 'it'. I feel horrible about that, Mr. Adder, I really do. Most sorry. Anyhow, if not my words, he at least gets my emotions and feelings, specifically about things like goals and objectives, sort of like how post owls work.

"Oh, and thank you for not pretending that your Hedwig is a normal owl, Harry – I know she's well on her way to becoming your Familiar based on this experience. In retrospect, it is sort of obvious after watching you two together. You should really try to help that relationship along." She looked at Harry as if he was being impossibly foolish.

"It is silly to try and hide it," she continued. "You aren't half as sneaky and subtle as you think you are, so you might as well take advantage of her friendship and offer to become your Familiar. It feels...quite nice, really. I think you'd like it." Hermione's left sleeve was pulled down over her hand still, but Harry thought he could see her stroking something with her thumb in her palm, something the size of a snake's head.

"Strange that knowledge of some concepts would be transmitted but not words," she said thoughtfully. "I can tell what his emotions in general are, but also how he is feeling about me, my robes, you, and the possibility of living in the castle. Guess it makes it more useful for the pair. So, that makes sense if Familiar Links were designed and not just a kind of magical mutation – designed sort of like post owls, I mean. By magicals. I wonder if the ability to form them is genetic...there is a whole field to be explored, magical genetics. No, later. Right. So. In any case, the communication seems to be two way over a direct, narrow-band magical connection. Not sure what the range on that is, yet. How extraordinary." She gathered herself and picked up her pace, more confident now that no snakes would take exception to the ride.

"Well, now that it has happened, I'm glad it did. You'll have to relay with Parseltongue if I need to get my exact words to my new friend Mr. Adder, but the others will need your skills to get anywhere at all, communication-wise. Or...maybe Mr. Adder can give them some hints in some sort of cross-species snake language? No, that seems too complicated. No reason in the wild for them to need that and the intelligence required...no. But, hmm, Parseltongue is a magical language anyway...okay, might as well try."

By this point, Harry was mostly trying to avoid being blamed for anything else, but he was also terribly interested in Hermione's exploration of yet another rare magical phenomenon. He decided to just keep quiet unless she required either future knowledge or a vict- err, lab assistant.

Hermione had almost crossed her eyes in concentration and was veering close to the edge of the walkway as they approached the castle once again. Harry gently grabbed her right arm and got a half-a-handful of snake as well as girl-arm. He was careful not to apply too much pressure but just hung on, barely touching them both.

"Mr. Adder," Hermione suddenly spoke up, "could you ask the grass snake on my right arm if he is still alright? I'm a little worried about him."

"My new mistressss and mate of the ssspeaker feelsss concerned and wondersss if you are well, sssnake of the green grassss on her right arm," the adder said loudly in Parseltongue.

"Yesss, I am quite well. Pleassse relay sssuch to the mate of the ssspeaker, he of sssharpessst fang on her left arm. And congratulationsss on your finding a human to be your Familiar," one of the other snakes replied.

"Much thanksss," the adder said. "I can sssee now her heart belongsss to the ssspeaker and thusss, the way I sssense it isss with humansss, we will both be with him forever. It isss good." Hermione started, then suddenly gave a little giggle.

"Oh wow. Snakes feel funny, that's what I just thought. They feel, you see Harry, the ground and other objects with their entire body all the time, instead of with hands and feet, because their bodies are like their hands and feet. Which is strange. And also, they are scaly and dry and strong, wrapped around my arm." Harry just stared at her blankly, still a little panicked from yet another odd thing happening to him and a little freaked-out by what he had just overheard the snakes say.

She rolled her eyes at his apparent lack of humor and explained her actual revelation. "So, I formulated a question to Mr. Adder about another snake, that was the assigned conceptual object, and it seems they don't need you to translate between them for simple concepts. At least, I assume the one on my right arm feels okay. That's what I got back – a calm sort of completeness to my question and soothing of my minor worry about the object I'd asked about."

"Uh, yes. That was basically what they said, Hermione," Harry stumblingly replied.

"Good, thank you Harry. Now I'll have to see if it works when you're not around, obviously, but this could mean that any magically intelligent snake could communicate with others and with me, but only through emotions and directed feelings about objects. Not optimal, but enough to get them to know when I'm trying to hide them or move them around without having to ask you to talk to them."

Seeing Harry's continued blank looks, she sighed and patted him on the arm. "This is a good thing, Harry, and I'm not mad at you or anything. I _like_ strange magical things happening to me, remember? Things like meeting you? Please cheer up." Harry was glad to hear that and it helped make his slightly strained smile look more genuine. Hermione giggled softly again.

"Before leaving for school, my mother warned me about wandering off alone with strange, temporally entangled boys, Mr. Potter," she said, mock-seriousness in her voice, "Said I'd come back magically attuned to snakes. At least, I think she might have said that. I wasn't really paying attention." Her sudden smile lit up her face as they walked through the castle's large double doors, then went off to hide her new friends in her room before dinner.

Harry was still really worried as he waited for her in their common room. What had he gotten Hermione into this time? What the hell did the snakes mean about his bushy-haired friend and him being something more than friends? And what in the name of all that was holy was he going to do about Snape and potions class tomorrow if Hermione still needed to be covered in snakes?


	7. Chapter 7

**Harry Potter and the Witch Queen**

by _TimeLoopedPowerGamer_

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter.

**Summary: ** Harry Potter never actually beat Voldemort, but rather fought him to a standstill while Europe burned around them. Finding himself an unwilling part of a dark ritual to send him back in time 20 years, he is surprised to see how Dumbledore reacts to proof of obvious child abuse (Harry's), how 11 year old super-genius and Witch Queen in training Hermione reacts to actually having a socially competent friend (Harry), and how much easier it is to shrug off the insults of munchkins when you're a grizzled war veteran.

But there is one huge problem: being sent back blew out his magic entirely. Just waving his wand knocked him out the first time he tried it. Can Hermione help him though his classes even with his magic almost unusable? Will Harry be able to find the secrets to actually killing the Dark Lord and saving his friends from a horrible future without blowing his cover, or even getting mistaken for the Dark Lord himself? Will Neville Longbottom get better grades than him?

**On Content: **Canon-Harry lives in a dark world. This one is darker, with evil turned up to 11 and actual adult situations: everyone is more magical and dangerous, witches and wizards are preternaturally attractive and seductive, people are meaner, magical creatures are horrifying and have back stories, Harry has worse mental issues, teenagers are hornier, villains actually torture and kill people before the last book, etc. Rated M for Maliciousness.

**Author's Note**: I've got a new forum set up on this site to talk to people about the story. Drop by to ask me questions or talk about stuff to other people reading my stories. I'll also be posting stuff about my progress to the next chapter and a whiny excuse if I miss a deadline. See my Profile page for details and a link.

Of course, I still welcome normal reviews, but any questions asked in the forum can receive a public answer that everyone can see. Do both! Or neither! I'll try to answer all questions in a timely manner.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Potion master Severus Snape, youngest Potions master in a century, the Head of Slytherin House at Hogwarts (the greatest magical school in all of the United Kingdom) leaned against the inside of his office door and tried not to throw up.

It wasn't the last five nights of drinking, followed by pepper-up potions and his own personal hangover cure every morning, that was doing this to him. Those were perfect and left no negative aftereffects, other than a persistent lightly pine-flavored mouth.

No, it was because this was the day he'd have to face Lily's child and his green eyes. Not James' hellspawn, as he had expected this year; the boy who was raised rich and spoiled, almost definitely dangerously violent, certainly a bully, and surely having already gathered with similar closed-minded Gryffindor friends to help him in his bullying ways. He had expected Albus to place the Potterling with at least a moderately wealthy wizarding household, a Light one for sure, but someone able to care for the young scion as his politically popular and well-connected parents would have.

Until last month's horrible revelation, Snape had been chewing on the thought for almost five years that this, _this _would be the year that he'd see his hated childhood foe's hideous larva. He had plans, oh yes, Snape had _many _plans on how to put the arrogant little brat in his place.

But that wasn't to be. Instead, he'd be seeing dearest Lily's poor little boy. Raised without magic. Clothed in rags until a month ago. Abused by muggles in that home where the bearded idiot had sent him. Scum that Albus had spent not even a day looking into. Vile people he'd trusted because, obviously (but only to Albus' mind), no parents would _ever _hurt a child, let alone one of their own blood. Idiot.

He could have set Albus straight there. Snape's youth had been that of a low-born half-blood. His family home, a virtual shack. His education, a charity scholarship. His father, a muggle who was drunk and violent. His summers, boredom and suffering. But there had also been Lily, dear Lily and her green eyes.

Later, Snape knew that his youth hadn't been some deep, epic tragedy (as he'd thought of it at the time), but just a normal, everyday one. Most muggle-born had it worse, even those rich enough to get invited to Hogwarts – they had two muggle parents after all, and most muggles hated magicals instinctively. Parental emotional bonds only went so far toward countering that natural prejudice. His stomach heaved a little as he tried to clear his mind of emotion once again.

Worst of all, he could have prevented this as easily as Albus or Minerva, who had both failed their own personal tests in this matter. If he could have just checked on the boy, once. If he could have even briefly seen what was happening in that home. Snape knew what would have worked, if only he'd known the child was placed with...muggles: a simple ruse, like asking to test a new magical disguise potion against the wards – that would have shown Snape the kinds of people those muggles were. He should have insisted on knowing where the boy was being kept, instead of relishing his jealous fantasies and remaining intentionally ignorant.

Albus had thought the boy safe. Someone in a warded wizard home couldn't be hurt by muggles because the standard Muggle Repelling wards would keep them out. Everything a wizard would try to do to break in was blocked by the same magical wards the boy's so-called relatives house surely had. And for some reason, he thought there was something extra, some special protection to be gained by having the boy with..._Petunia._ Snape spat the word out even in his own thoughts.

A normal muggle house, however, could never be simply warded against all muggles, for obvious reasons. The fool had missed that gaping hole – muggles can hurt muggles in their own homes. The fact that, statistically speaking, violence against muggle children almost always came from relatives would have been interesting additional information that might have swayed the old fool – he was merely idealistic, not dirt-stupid. Knowing that extra fact, or at least being reminded of it, Albus would surely have warded Harry to be safe from muggle hands and...all would have been prevented.

Finally successfully emptying his mind of emotions once again, Snape snapped up his magically-supported false personality. He shuddered as guilt and pain sloughed off him, like a snake shedding its old skin. The slick new veneer slid over the rest of his thoughts and covered the front of his mind, that part most easily accessed by Legilimency.

A sneer immediately twisted his face, his head tilted back, and his eyes started looking down his long nose at everything. He was now danger and death, instant violence and sneering power, standing above all and cursing in his thoughts those muggle-born who polluted these halls. The muggle-spawned crotch maggots would soon scurry to class – pathetic, stammering, scared, yet amazed by the magic of this place, this ancient center of learning. Their shining faces would be so like sweat Lily's had been as- No. He was ice and simmering rage and hatred of those...unpure mudbloods.

He combed some fireproofing gel into his hair, arranged his robes once more, and went to do battle with that ever-regenerating, multi-headed beast: eleven-year-old children's ignorance.

He coldly hoped no one lost a finger or an eye this time. The paperwork was horrible when that happened. Pomfrey still sent him death threats on Christmas, written inside those cheery-looking magical holiday cards of hers, all because of his second year at Hogwarts teaching the little brats Potions. He didn't know why she still held such a grudge. They'd found and reattached all of the idiot First Year Ravenclaw class's toes. Eventually.

* * *

Hermione had returned for a quick chat Thursday night, leaving the magically sentient grass snakes hidden in her rooms in things the house elves wouldn't try to clean up, like her spare book bag ("What if my primary is lost or damaged? How will I carry all my books?"), behind the clothes hampers, and under stacks of notepaper on her trunk. It was a great relief when she determined that they would be fine without her so long as they stayed inside the castle. She had raced down to the common room to tell him that in a whispered rush and then explained in more detail after everyone had gone to bed and she was able to sneak off to talk to Harry in his room.

"If anything," she said, "they are too energetic now. They won't stop crawling all over the place and I was worried they were going to be found out by my roommates. Then Mr. Adder talked to them in Parseltongue and they finally calmed down. That was when I was able to finally escape my room. But by then it was already late and I decided we could just talk later. So here we are. I hope you have a great topic for tonight?"

"Absolutely. We're going to work on Occlumency," Harry said.

"Oh, that's the thought shielding magic, one of the wandless things we can practice over the Hols and Summer break," Hermione said brightly, snuggling into the blankets around her under the covers. Her face was lit from below by her wand, her smile inches from his own.

"That's right," Harry said. "It's one of the best way to keep your thoughts your own, even in the face of aggressive telepathic spells like those used in Legilimency. Most people don't learn it until they are older, but we need to work on it now because even your surface thoughts could expose some of our secrets."

"Ah," she said, "and tomorrow is the first Potions class, run by the maybe-ex-Death Eater, Professor Snape."

"Right again," Harry said. Hermione smiled wider and wiggled in joy at solving even that simple logical puzzle.

"The very best defense is still not to meet his eyes," he said. "He'd have to verbally cast a stronger spell if you aren't looking him in the eyes. This will also be something you can keep running all the time, even when you are asleep or surprised."

He ran her through the basic meditation and mind clearing exercises, the two of them sitting up and forming a sort of tent under the blankets. They sat quietly in the dark with their backs straight and attempted to clear their minds of thoughts and emotions. After five minutes, Hermione quietly said, "Done."

"Err, what?" Harry said quizzically, losing his focus immediately.

"Hmm? Oh, my mind. It is clear now," she said softly, lighting her wand with a wave and a whispered word. He saw she still had her eyes closed and looked completely relaxed, even the hand holding her wand.

"Err...okay," Harry replied, unsure what she meant. It had taken him months to even briefly achieve the kind of clarity and focus required for Occlumency. He had no idea if she'd really done it, but knowing Hermione that was entirely possible.

"So, uh, the next part is to open your eyes and imagine a wall between your mind, just behind your eyes, and the outside world. Feel your magic fill your head. Pour your magic into the design in your mind and see it solidify into a solid magical wall." Hermione opened her eyes and continued to sit quietly, still powering her lit wand and now staring through Harry. He was about to suggest she keep practicing later and call it a night when she spoke up again.

"Okay, got it," she said, her voice sort of distant.

"Uh. Hermione? It's been ten minutes."

"Oh!" she said, her eyes widening suddenly. "I'm sorry for taking so long. You must want to get to sleep now. Sorry!" She was obviously contrite and bit her lip nervously while looking at him apologetically.

"So. Cute," he thought, trying to focus.

"Hermione," he said, finally recovering from the cuteness coma, "the initial meditation exercises took me months to figure out. It was a year before I finally got the active shields down. If this is working already for you, that would be...amazing. I knew you would most likely have some natural shielding already, but..."

He grinned quickly, then said, "But I also already knew that you're amazing..." Hermione poked him hard in the arm, but she was smiling now.

"Well, how do we test it?" she asked. That was something Harry had spent a lot of time thinking about over the last week.

Harry's mind was not well suited to even basic mental magic. The subtle art of mind reading and Legilimency was virtually impossible for him, even when he'd been a magically healthy adult. However, he had found a very useful, slightly Dark-ish book on Occlumency in Knockturn Alley last month that should help solve his current problem.

It was a translation of the original Old English tome _Gebolstrodu Hordlocan __– _roughly, _Guarded Thoughts_ – an older guide for learning Occlumency that included spells for testing one's own abilities without requiring skill in Legilimency or a partner. Hermione had recommended it to him in the future as it was one that wasn't on the Ministry Banned Books List and thus was more easily found in Europe after the fall – but only because they had forgotten about it as it was an American translation of an obscure title.

The British Ministry didn't like people learning to resist mental scans and truth potions, which explained the general book ban. He realized that Hermione would burn things to cinders with just the power of her mind when she found out about that bit of official magical government censorship, so he decided to delay telling her about that little detail until she was out of his bed.

And at least a county or two away.

And he was talking to her over the telephone.

From a bunker.

In any case, Harry had originally picked it up in Knockturn Alley for some self-study before he knew he'd be telling an eleven-year-old Hermione basically everything. He was sure she'd love to get a chance to read it.

"Ah, that's a problem," he told her. "Legilimency is the usual way to test Occlumency shields. It is a very, very hard skill to learn, borderline illegal, and requires a fairly large amount of power to cast. It also means someone has to try to use it to read your mind, over and over again while you attempt to get your Occlumency shields to work.

"I'm not comfortable with that, really, and learning that way never worked for me – it seems wrong to read someone's mind even to help them learn. I also don't have the talent for it at all and currently not even enough magic to use it even if I did. So I decided that this would be the best way for you to work on your Occlumency." Harry pulled out the small book and handed it to her. She let out a sound like a squirrel being slowly crushed by a pile of tasty acorns – sort of a muffled series of excited, near orgasmic squeaks – as she snatched it out of his hands, opening it and starting to read already.

"That book has some spells you can cast on yourself to tell if your shields are up and working. It also has a section about creating a layer to your shields to protect the existence of your Occlumency itself."

"Thanks so much Harry! I'll read this right away," she said, doing so already.

"Make sure to get some sleep tonight, Hermione," Harry reminded her.

"Yeah, sure," she said vaguely, still reading as she slid out from under the covers. Book still in hand, she canceled the silencing spells with the other and then quietly left the room, still reading.

Waking early Friday morning, Harry decided to wait for her in the common room. Meeting Snape for the first time, again, worried him. At least Hermione didn't have to bring all her snakes to class. The cute little things should be happy to spend the morning soaking up the magical ambiance of the ancient enchanted castle, which solved at least one of their issues. He was sure she'd bring Mr. Adder with her, but that wasn't as big a deal. He was easy enough to hide and could take direct instructions from over their growing Familiar Link if they needed to hide him better for some reason.

Hermione came drifting down the stairs, finally having dragged herself out of bed. Hermione never had been a morning person – she had a bad habit of staying up reading instead of sleeping, and had developed a severe coffee addiction as an adult. He greeted her with the false cheer he knew she hated this early.

"Good morning, Hermione!" he said with a grin on his face. She scowled at him and covered her yawn with one hand, the other trying to get her book bag onto her shoulder. She was always on time to classes in the morning but that didn't mean she liked it.

"Will you join me for breakfast in the Great Hall?" he said, still grinning like a sugar-crazed house elf. Her frown distressingly morphed into a large smile of her own, then she looked thoughtful.

"I don't know, Harry," she said, making a pantomime of thinking, even putting a finger to her chin.

"I...I mean, is there even the slightest chance that I will become covered in snakes along the way?" she queried cheekily, her head tilted to one side.

"No," he sighed, rolling his eyes. She immediately smiled again and bounced over to him, indicating her desire to leave immediately with the subtle body language of dragging him out of the room by the hand.

"Oh, by the way Harry," she said as they walled down the corridor, "I finished that book last night. I wanted your opinion on the results." She grabbed his robes and pulled him into a nearby empty classroom, then waved her wand at her head in a complicated pattern.

"_Specto Mens_," she chanted clearly and distinctly. Her head glowed a bright lime green color. Harry sighed with amused resignation.

"Not sure why I'm surprised," Harry said. "Bright green. You shields are up and working and quite strong. It would only take a skilled adult a few minutes to hammer through that with brute force but they'd have to practically have you tied down to do that. At your current strength, you won't leak anything to a casual or passive attempt. If you feel someone try harder, just run. It is really easy to notice, a feeling of pressure on the back of your eyes. Getting out of range is the best way to prevent them from breaking your shields. Also, if they tried to do it too quickly or aggressively there would likely be some feedback with shields that strong, which would give them a nasty headache."

"That's great news, Harry. Thanks," Hermione said. She then grinned and dragged him the rest of the way to breakfast.

While they ate, they both watched the owls arrive. A few students received letters from their parents and Malfoy received the usual, near-daily care package from his mom. Harry was surprised to receive a letter himself, then finally remembered it happening last time.

"Hermione," he said absentmindedly while rereading the note, "did you want visit Hagrid with me after lunch?" The brief snicker should have alerted him, but he simply wasn't paying that much attention – so much for constant vigilance.

"Well Harry," she said. He still didn't see it coming as she leaned over, her lips almost brushing his ear. "I know it is unlikely...but do...do you think I will somehow become covered in snakes there?" she asked in a worried whisper. "I hear that they are most common around that area." Harry sagged, his face falling into his hands. He shook his head no, not daring to look into her undoubtedly amused face.

"Then of course, Harry!" she chirped happily at him, "I'd be glad to meet him. Being so well acquainted with the Hogwarts grounds, I'm sure he has many interesting things to say about magical animals in the area and such. Animals like snakes." He groaned into his hands, then got some parchment out and wrote Hagrid a similar response to last time, simply saying he'd be there that afternoon. Looking at some of the students starting to file out of the Great Hall, he realized they should leave soon to get the best (farthest from Snape) seats.

"Look, very funny and all, but we need to get moving soon to make it to Potions early enough to get a good place to sit." he said, starting to double-check his bag.

"Hmm..." Hermione hummed. Harry immediately sensed danger this time. "I guess..." she said slowly, considering, "but...do you think there is any chance-"

"Okay, okay," he quickly said, holding up his hands. He leaned over and stared deep into her dancing brown eyes, locking his hands together in front of himself, as if in prayer.

"I, Harry James Potter," he said quietly, just loud enough for her to hear, "swear that I will warn intelligent young witches first before demonstrating strange and rare magical abilities or spells around them and will ask for their advice before continuing with any experiments."

Hermione smirked and patted his hands with one of hers. Her other hand went to his shoulder and squeezed gently. "I accept your oath, Harry James Potter. There, was that so hard?" Harry rolled his eyes and then twitched as Mr. Adder poked his head out of Hermione's sleeve and tickled his neck with flicks of his snaky tongue.

"Oh, that reminds me Harry: I've decided on a name for our beautiful new friend," Hermione said as they stood up from their meal.

"Oh?"

"Yep, we agreed his name is Salazar. I thought it was a good, historic name. Like Hedwig's. Also, our Salazar...he was, well, _you know_, by your _you know what_. Which is part of the reason this all happened. And his namesake is famous for _you know what_, after all. Thought it was appropriate. Anyway, 'Sal' for short." She was grinning again.

"That's, uh...a great name guys. Congratulations," Harry said. He was a little worried about what people would think when she had to make her new Familiar public knowledge. Her smirk as she grabbed her bag suggested she knew what he was thinking and didn't care.

* * *

They quickly got their stuff together and headed straight to Potions. As they walked, he ran her through the exercises for the False Persona Occlumency technique she'd read about last night. Hermione might already have been partially shielded because of her magical mental abilities, helping her get more organized Occlumency shields faster, but she also needed to become a person who _didn't _have mental shields or weird mind magic issues. At least for the next few years until she could be seen reading the right books in the library and asking the correct questions of Professor Flitwick on mental charms and protections.

"Try again," Harry whispered softly into her ear as they walked slowly down the corridor, keeping a keen eye out for any potentially eavesdropping portraits on the walls. "Imagine the person you need to be for the situation. Hold that in your mind." Hermione pressed herself into his side and listened, wrapping her arms around his and holding his hand in her small, yet very freezing cold ones. He ignored her frosty digits stoically.

"Then begin to cleanse yourself of emotions," he continued. "Let them drift away like seed heads to the ground. They are not real, only existing in your mind so long as you tend them as a gardener would. So release them, let them grow wild and unnoticed in the greenhouse of your deeper thoughts. Free your conscious mind for other things.

"Next, let the personality of that unreal individual you've constructed rule your every thought and emotion. Pull it over you like a soft blanket and live under it, only peeking out at the world occasionally. You have to be consumed by this other person, ready to act instinctively the same way they would; you will both look at the world in a similar way, you will both know some of the same things, but to that imagined person, there is no other 'you,' just 'I'."

Harry's _second_ Occlumency teacher had been an adult Hermione, and she'd taken an approach that was naturally a mix of the best that books had to offer, advanced muggle psychology, far-east mysticism, and unique, carefully worked out exercises based on personal experience. Combined with that book last night, it seemed to be working almost flawlessly for young Hermione.

It helped that she already had an alternate personality of sorts planned out, the Perfect Little Professor. So stern, so studious, so nearly immune to loneliness and scorn. She almost had the basics of down after less than a day's study, which was frankly silly speeds for an eleven-year-old.

He had concerns about people finding out he had working Occlumency shields but had decided it wasn't a big deal before he'd even gotten on the train. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, so strange magical stuff was expected of him. Which was good, because actively hiding that ability was basically impossible for him, even when he was healthy and an adult. He knew the theory of False Persona Occlumency by heart, having had it drilled into him by Hermione over and over again in an attempt to get it to work correctly for him, but it never had. He really wasn't good at the mental arts.

Adult Hermione, on the other hand, had never had any issues. Her shields were reported to have been like steel plates and he didn't know if anyone had ever successfully read her mind. As for Legilimency: after the Fall, he'd seen her cut through a trained Auror's Occlumency shields, in combat. The spell had been silent-cast, without eye contact, and at almost twenty yards. She had then freed him from an active Imperious Curse (another feat of Mental Magic that was previously considered impossible) before he could fire on her operations team. It was scary. But then, so was how fast Hermione was picking it up now.

He was a little worried that maybe she actually _did _have another personality to help obscure her defenses, but maybe she was just very mentally flexible when she applied herself. Which was what she was best at, after all. Of course, as a child with a large reserve of magic only compared to other kids, neither the shields nor the illusory personality would stand long against the full force of an adult's attack. Anything casual should be fooled for long enough, however. And who tried to mind rape a kid just at random, especially one that didn't even have mental shields?

"Keep practicing and try to maintain it through the entire class if you can," Harry said. Looking sideways at her, he frowned slightly. "And don't snuggle up to me in the corridors unless your False Persona personality construct would. I don't care if you're cold. You can't leave your mind vulnerable to invasion by a potential murder and former Death Eater just because you want to use me as your own personal Warming Charm."

"Fah," Hermione grumbled in reply, sticking out her tongue at him but moving to a more normal walking distance. Shivering in her robes, she buried her hands inside her sleeves. "These dungeons are awful. There should be plenty of magic available to heat them. Seems lazy not to, really, given the level of-"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted gently, undoubtedly saving himself a five minute rant on magical utilities, "this second part of Occlumency is important if you don't want your shields to be instantly discovered. That is the best way to fail in disguising who you are and what you can do.

"If Snape tests your mind and runs into a brick wall instead of a nice, soft, flowery, squishy little-girl mind," Hermione's eyebrows scrunched together and she glared at him balefully for that one, "then you're found out. We can't have that."

She snarled silently at him but then stopped in the middle of the corridor and took a deep breath. Getting a slightly glazed look in her eyes, she seemed to become a different person in front of him. Her back straightened, she squared her shoulders, her lips tightened just a bit, and she now had a slightly worried look on her face, like someone was about to run a pop-quiz and she had just realized she hadn't studied for it properly. In other words, almost exactly like the timid little girl Harry had rescued from a Troll a month and a half from now, in a strange temporal direction. He nodded to her and she looked back with a raised eyebrow and slightly-disapproving frown. Not waiting for him, she started walking again toward class.

Now well on their way to the first real world test of their shields, Harry suddenly wanted to check his own. Stopping again, this time in a quiet alcove, he motioned Hermione over. He then carefully waved his wand through the complicated Specto Mens movements and gently, ever so gently, pushed his magic into the spell. He leaned heavily against the wall as the lights seemed to dim around him and he grew extremely dizzy, but he thought he had been able to run the spell successfully for about a second.

"Well, it was green," Hermione said, wincing. "Not good, though. Sort of a dim, sickly green. Sorry Harry."

"Don't be," Harry said, squeezing her hand. That brought a blush to her face but she quickly pulled her hand away again – no public displays of affection for the Little Professor, no matter how innocent.

"I was expecting that," he said. "At least I've got something working. I don't have much magic to fuel it right now, so that is about what I was thinking it would be." He continued walking toward class again, still a little unstable on his feet. Hermione hurried after him, a worried look on her face.

Sighing to himself as they entered the Potions classroom, Harry claimed a table way in the back for himself and Perfect Little Professor Hermione, one as far away from the Slytherin section as possible. He set up his class equipment textbook-perfect though long experience (Hermione did the same, but that was because she'd memorized the textbook). Looking around and seeing all his old classmates, Harry had a strange moment of déjà vu. He knew almost all of these people rather well and had seen several of them die horribly, but they only knew him as the Boy-Who-Lived now, with all the nonsense associated with that title. He snapped out of it and waved to Ron as the redhead sleepily entered the classroom with Neville. Ron waved back with a smile but Neville was too nervous to do anything but stagger to the seat next to Ron.

Harry, afraid he'd screwed up and ruined things, had talked to the young Weasley boy after the panicked disaster yesterday morning. His new-again friend had taken it strangely well. Nothing about being press-ganged into his crazy rescue scheme seemed to have fazed Ron. Harry had apologized and explained it had all been a false alarm and Hermione was actually fine. Ron had simply said it was lots of fun and then asked to be included in any more adventures.

At lunch Thursday, Ron had made the mistake of saying that he didn't actually know any noise-making charms. Unfortunately, this was in Fred and George's hearing. Apparently they'd heard the whole story already, as they first thanked Harry for the "teachable moment" and then suggested Harry see them first if he ever wanted to try to "elope from the castle with a cute young witch" again. The last part was said while wiggling their eyebrows salaciously. Hermione had instantly blushed bright red, then started a spluttering explanation of why they were wrong. This then segued into a Weasley bonding moment, with the twins dragging their brother off for what they called "remedial jokes class." What a strange family.

The Potions classroom was now full of muttering students as the start time for the class was rapidly approaching and Professor Snape still hadn't arrived. Harry couldn't remember how close he had cut it last time – mostly his first Potions class was all a blur of anger and shame. Just then, he noticed a dark, shadowy shape quietly drift through the doorway, closing the door behind itself. Still almost totally silent, the tall, thin, dark-robed figure ghosted over to the teacher's desk.

It hurt his eyes a little to look directly at the form, then he realized only he and Hermione seemed to notice it was even there. Whoever it was must have cast a Notice-Me-Not charm of some sort and the less disciplined and alert minds of the other students were apparently fooled. Harry tensed. It might be Snape, but this was different from last time, making him nervous about something that had once again changed.

Lifting a book above the teacher's desk, the dark figure's spell dropped and Snape appeared clearly to his sight just as the textbook fell and slammed into the desk with a resounding thud.

"Quiet," Snape said in a loud growl. The room instantly fell silent, except for a few tiny, terrified shrieks which were quickly stifled. Starting roll call without another word, he monotoned his way down the list until he finally hit Harry's name. And then kept going after Harry's tight, quiet "here, sir" rang out. Some of the class was staring at Harry, Draco with a sneer, but otherwise nothing had happened.

"There is both art and science in potion making," Snape started, his voice ringing loud in the silent classroom. "Being a Potioneer requires subtlety, raw skill, and exacting, unbending adherence to certain necessities. Learning Potions will require your full attention and your best creative instincts. Some may not even consider this to be magic at all, as you will not be using your wands for any silly spells in this classroom. They are fools.

"If you are one of the few to master this greatest of all magical studies, you can be assured that vast wealth, great wisdom, eternal fame, limitless power, and internal fortitude and strength unbendable by the ages can be yours." Snape paused, arms folded, then continued in a dangerous, droning voice.

"If there is any idle spell casting in this class, points will be taken. If such irresponsible actions result in damage to _my classroom_, detentions will be the best result you can hope for. I would gladly see anyone fooling around in this class expelled. That will be my immediate response to any dangerous infractions of discipline." He paused and glared at every single one of the students in his class. Harry carefully avoided his gaze and stared at his left ear. He hoped Hermione was doing the same, but didn't dare check.

"In the first three chapters of your textbook are the instructions for correct Potions station set up and basic safety procedures," Snape continued. "Prepare your cauldron and other equipment based on those instructions. If you are not ready in exactly ten minutes, you will be staying after class for additional instruction." No one moved.

"What are you waiting for?" he snarled. The sound of flipping pages filled the room. Harry and Hermione had already set up their stations, but after sharing a look they shrugged and reviewed the safety chapter again. A few minutes later, a looming shadow appeared as if by magic behind their stools.

"One point from Gryffindor for unnecessary flammables being kept on your station, Granger," a sickly sweet voice said behind them. Whipping his head around, Harry saw Snape glaring at the textbook Hermione was reading on the table. She hadn't even turned on her flame yet so there was obviously no safety concerns. Snape was clearly picking on her for some reason.

The greasy-haired man shifted his glare to Harry's side of the table. Harry had already stopped reviewing the information he knew by heart, so though his station was set up exactly the same as Hermione's, he had already put his textbook away. Harry winced and waited for Snape to make up something that he had done wrong so Gryffindor could lose even more points.

"And one point to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, for the first correctly set up station. It seems _s__ome __kinds _of people can both read a book _and _understand the contents enough to follow simple instructions." Several Slytherins chuckled quietly from the front of the class. Harry's mouth fell open and his growing anger at Hermione's unjust treatment stalled in his shocked mind. Had Snape just...given him House Points?

"Did you have something to say, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked in a syrupy voice.

"Uh, no. Sir," Harry answered hesitantly. Snape sniffed, then moved away to harass someone else. Neville had somehow managed to lose his stirrer and only Ron's help was preventing him from lighting his robe on fire from the magical flame that was currently, for some reason, turned all the way up on their desk. Snape was not impressed and started taking points immediately.

Looking to Hermione, Harry saw her putting the textbook back in her bag with shaking hands. She then sat perfectly still with her hands clutched tightly in her lap, not looking at him. After the ten minutes were up, Snape found several students with grossly improperly set up cauldrons which he had to correct, guaranteeing those poor students extra time in the dungeon that afternoon. He then had the class start on a boils cure potion in pairs, the same as Harry's original first Potions class.

"Granger!" Snape said suddenly. Hermione jumped an inch in her seat, but didn't look up.

"As his station was arranged correctly and _safely_, you will assist Mr. Potter at his cauldron for this exercise," he continued in a drawl. Hermione again didn't say anything or even look up from the table as she started putting away her brewing equipment in her bag, leaving the prep-materials like her mortar and ingredient bins out. Waiting until she was finished, Snape spoke up once again.

"One point for dismantling your station before the end of class, Granger," he oozed in his audibly smirking voice. Hermione flinched violently, but simply quietly sat down again with her hands in her lap. Harry could hear a soft, angry hissing from her left sleeve, but she didn't say a word herself.

Once they started the potion, she continued to keep her head down while quickly and perfectly crushing, measuring, and prepping the ingredients according to the instructions Snape had put up on the blackboard. She silently added the necessary magical power to the mixture at the correct times for Harry with silent waves of her wand. Her eyes didn't raise higher than the small cauldron on their table. She didn't look at him while handing over the prepped ingredients at exactly the correct times to add them to the potion and simply quietly watched the cauldron as he stirred it.

This time, perhaps due to Ron's help (his mother did brew her own potions, Harry remembered), Neville didn't melt anything or get hurt. But his and Ron's resulting...slime was glared at angrily by Snape. Vanishing the contents of the cauldron, Snape started taking points away for every mistake he said they'd made in what he called an "extremely disappointing" potion.

Harry knew his and Hermione's potion was (of course) perfect, but he waited for Snape's review nervously. Hermione was once again sitting with her head bowed, her hands clutched in her lap, and her shoulders tense and pulled in. Harry couldn't take it any longer and snaked his hand over to gently squeeze one of hers under the table. She twitched at his touch, but then tightly gripped his hand before slowly pushing it away again. She seemed less tense now but was still withdrawn and didn't look around or chat quietly like some of the other students.

Snape took one look at their potion and then vanished it. "One point to Gryffindor for a correctly brewed first potion, Mr. Potter. Once again proving that at least someone in your House can follow simple directions. Which brings me to your partner." Snape speared Hermione with his eyes, but she didn't look up.

"One point from Gryffindor for goldbricking, Granger. Next time, actively participate in the brewing of the potion in a pair exercise or I will see you in detention. I watched this entire class and you did not so much as stir the cauldron once. Luckily for you, Mr. Potter is somehow capable of brewing the simplest of potions by himself. Mr. Potter will receive full marks for a correctly brewed boil cure potion but you will receive a zero for this exercise, as you contributed nothing of value." Hermione nodded her head jerkily, eyes still lowered, then Snape moved on. She started cleaning and putting away her equipment without a word.

As soon as Snape dismissed the them (at least those who weren't being held after), Hermione ducked her head, grabbed her bag, and almost ran out of the classroom. Harry swore silently and hurried to finish putting his stuff away so he could follow her. Rushing into the corridor, he was surprised to see her slumped against the wall just outside the door.

"Hermione," he started, but she shook her head at him and held up a hand. "Please, don't," she said in a shaky voice. "I'll, I'll meet you at lunch and we can go to Hagrid's after. I just. I don't." She shook her head violently again and fled down the corridor. Harry was left staring after her, too shocked to follow.

* * *

He spent the next hour doing his small amount of remaining homework from Charms and Herbology in the library, with a stack of advanced books open around him as part of his cover for knowing too much. If he kept this up, hopefully everyone would look back and remember how that Potter boy was always reading beyond his Year, so of course he'd know all kinds of things from higher level classes. But he was just doing his homework today, not refreshing his memory on advanced Transfigurations or whatever. He was too distracted by Hermione and the aftermath of Potions to concentrate and didn't get anything done.

Returning to the Great Hall for lunch, he spotted Hermione at the Gryffindor table and immediately went to sit beside her. She noticed him approaching and turned, smiling brightly. A tightness in his chest he hadn't realized was even there suddenly loosened.

"Are you...are you okay, Hermione?" he asked quietly.

"Of course, Harry," she sternly answered, looking down her nose at him. This effect was softened somewhat by the grin still on her face. "Professor Snape just really made me angry and I needed some time alone."

"Uhh," he started, before she started giggling at him. "Seriously, Harry, I was just mad at him. I needed to go let off some aggression, so I, uhh, went and found a girl's bathroom in the dungeons. That's where the Slytherin dorms are, according to _Hogwarts, A History_, and I figured it would annoy Professor Snape the most to mess with one there.

"I locked the door, turned all the toilets bright pink, and then shot this Bluebell fire spell I found Wednesday night into all the sinks. It won't hurt anyone unless they intentionally hold their hands over it for a long time, but until the flames are dispelled anyone turning on the sinks will get a face full of hot steam. And, err, the toilets are pink until someone changes them back."

She looked up to see all the nearby Gryffindors staring at her open-mouthed. Fred and George, sitting on both sides of Ron, were the first to respond.

"Ms. Granger, this is very unexpected," one of them said, accusatively.

"Such behavior-" said the other.

"Is most-"

"Awesome," they both said at once. "Not a bad prank," added the second twin. They both gave her a thumbs up, grinning from ear to ear. "We have the same reaction to Snape," said the first.

"So. Feel better now?" Harry asked, eyebrow raised.

"Yep!" Hermione chirped cheerfully. They finished lunch in peace, with Fred and George shooting Hermione occasional measuring glances.

Harry thought that was the last of it until they left together to visit Hagrid. Hermione continued to talk animatedly about next week's classes as they walked out of the castle, but as soon as they were out of sight of the main walkway she collapsed shakily against Harry. Burying her face in his robes, she then started sobbing.

"Hermione! What's wrong?" Harry asked, shocked and worried.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry. I just, I can't hold it in any longer."

"I don't understand, Hermione. What's happened?"

"Snape," she hissed. "He was so unfair and biased and hurtful in class! It reminded me, it..." she pulled in a deep breath. "It reminded me of some of my teachers in school, from before. I thought things would be different and even though you warned me I still thought it couldn't be that bad, so I expected him to be mean and strict and maybe angry at you because of your dad like you said, but he ignored you and I couldn't do anything right and I sort of hate you because it wasn't you who was getting picked on but me and that is stupid and I just shoved it all away and now it's spilling out again and I hate myself for being like this and always crying on you." She was gasping now, having run out of breath, her mind obviously still running at full speed in circles.

Harry hugged her close and gently rubbed her back. "It's okay. I understand. Snape is an awful person. That isn't your fault. I'm sorry Snape is picking on you for some reason and I don't mind if you resent me for it."

"Oh Harry," she muttered into his chest, "That isn't the problem. I resented you not getting picked on instead of me for about 30 seconds, but I still hate Snape."

"Not 'Professor' Snape?" Harry gently chided her. She glared at him murderously.

"Sorry, Hermione," he immediately said.

"Harry, I really, really hate him. I was holding it together during class, trying to suppress my emotions, but they just kept building and building and it felt like I was going to explode and I..." she pulled her head off his shoulder and looked at him with her tear filled eyes, but she was also smiling now. "For some reason, I wanted to bite him and then wait and watch until the poison killed him. Still do, sort of. I could barely hold it in during class."

Hmm, her happy grin had a lot more teeth in it than Harry was really comfortable with, now that he thought about it. She shook herself and seemed to regain her composure some.

"I almost completely failed to keep my False Persona in place and my Occlumency was a mess, I could tell. I'm sure that odd revenge fantasy was just my new snaky friend gently 'suggesting' ways to deal with my anger. That's why I went and magically blew-up all over the Slytherin's bathroom. I didn't tell the others, but that silly little prank was _after _I accidentally turned a blowtorch on one of the toilets and melted it to slag on the ground."

"Umm," Harry said, "I don't remember a spell like that..."

"Oh, well, it was really just an Incendio, but...it seemed really, really overpowered. I wanted to destroy something and I was angry but I just meant to cast it into the toilet water, a safe way to let out my anger, and instead the flame came out all blue and super-hot and then the water exploded and the metal bowl started melting...I panicked and tried to fix it but it wouldn't react to the only repair charm I knew. So I changed the rest of them pink and set it up to make it look like part of the prank that went wrong. I'm really worried something is wrong with my magic, but I'm afraid of what they'll find if I go to the Hospital Wing. I've got Sal as a Familiar now and...that other thing I'm afraid they'll find."

"It'll be okay, Hermione," Harry said, patting her on the back. "Look, we'll do some testing over the weekend and figure out what's going on." She nodded and pushed herself back on her own feet, then smoothed out her slightly crumpled robes.

"Let's go see Hagrid and ask him some pointed questions about snakes, eh?" he suggested, drawing a playful grin from Hermione once again. She immediately grabbed his hand and started dragging him down the path to the Gamekeeper's hut.

* * *

"Oh, aye, ther' are some nasty besties in tha Forbid'n Forest. Snakes? Oh, lots a snakes. Any in specifics like?" The huge, friendly man peered at Harry in interest. Hermione squirmed in the background, trying to keep Fang from sniffing and pawing at the snake hidden under her sleeve.

"Ah, yes. Well, I was by the edge of the forest in some tall grass – not in the Forest itself, it mind you, I know that is dangerous – and thought I saw a snake that looked a little different. A common adder, if the field guide I read is correct, but it seemed...I don't know, more snake-like than normal? Special somehow? So I figured it was magical. And I heard you liked magical creatures..." Harry knew this puzzle would hook the jolly outdoorsmen.

"OH! How interest'n! Well, let me see. Could 'ave been an Ashwind'r, I guess. What color 'n size?" Hagrid really did look interested, rubbing his beard in thought.

"Large," Harry said, "over three feet long, silver and black colors, big around. Didn't have glowing eyes, so not an Ashwinder, I think."

"No, no, yer right there Harry ma' lad. Coulda been a young Basilisk, may'e, but those 'ave been extinct, or ah' least illegal, for 'undreds ah years. Well, let me see. Tha' is whats known as an enchan'd forest, you see, so it could be jus' about anythin'. Maybe somethin' left over from a magical experimen'. Or a miss'n pet. Some things livin' in ther' can also absorb magic when the'r young. Might just be somethin' like tha'."

Hermione was getting steadily more nervous about Fang, so Harry decided their visit was about over. He didn't need any information about the break in at Gringotts, for obvious reasons, and they'd already had their tea with inedible rock cakes, so they said their goodbyes and returned to the castle. It was good to see Hagrid again, but he just didn't have much he could safely talk to the fellow about and Hermione had been too nervous about the whole situation to say much.

The rest of their quiet weekend was spent in endless library study and careful magical experimentation. Harry and Hermione left the stacks Saturday only for meals, cramming advanced magical knowledge into the smartest witch of the age from the school collection, his own personal library of advanced textbooks, and the Gray and borderline Dark books he'd purchased from Knockturn Alley. Hermione loved every moment of it, of course.

Harry was a little worried about how little time he was spending with Ron compared to last time, but it was early days yet. Ron and his new friend Neville (the two seemed to have bonded over hating Snape after their first Potions class) weren't really into that much constant studying, getting bored and leaving after only two hours of doing homework. They spent some of their time that weekend poking around the greenhouses and gardens but most of it playing games in the Gryffindor common room.

Sunday they went outside and ran some tests on Hermione's spell power. He'd told her about the Room of Requirement but also managed to convince her they should use it sparingly for now, in case someone caught them entering or leaving. Maybe after getting his hands on the Marauder's Map again they could risk it, as that would help them tell if anyone was lurking around the corridor. But for today's science experiments, he found a lonely bit of rocky shore by Black Lake that looked like it could take some moderate scorching.

Something strange was going on but they couldn't nail it down. Most of the time, she cast the Incendio spell and it would just light something on fire as usual. But a few times it would burn with a bright blue flame, brighter than the Bluebell spell fire and much, much hotter, and things were instantly turn to ash. Hermione felt very winded and usually had to sit down for a few minutes when those happened, so it obviously took more magical power, whatever it was.

After a few frustrating hours spent mostly as amateur pyromaniacs, Harry decided the mystery wasn't going to be solved quickly or easily and Hermione started complaining about experimental controls, so they went back to learning the theory of obscure jinxes, counter-jinxes, and anti-jinxes in the school library.

Classes starting up again Monday was a kick in the teeth. More exhausting spell practice was required in DADA Monday morning, but Quirrell seemed strangely understanding when Harry could only dimly light his wand once before he had to stop and try not to heave all over his desk. Quirrell then gave Harry full grades and a House Point for "g-g-great effort, which s-should always b-b-be rewarded." Creepy.

Then Hermione had a House point deducted and was told to stop casting the spell and sit quietly for the rest of the class for "intentionally trying to blind" her classmates with her first attempt at the spell. It was bright, sure, but that was sort of the point of the spell. Quirrell definitely had something against her and Harry was worried about how she was taking a second professor being on her case.

With both of them left reading the textbook for the rest of the class (which they both knew cover to cover already), Harry watched Hermione go from shocked to angry to totally blank-faced. She sat staring at a single page of the book the rest of the class, her hands clutched in her lap. She wouldn't talk to Harry afterward but did walk with him to the Great Hall, where she seemed to recover, even chatting a little about classes with Percy during lunch.

Their Theory of Magic class that followed was a lot more boring than he remembered. But then again, he had so much practical experience at this point that he likely could have taught the simple lecture-based class himself. Hermione obviously knew the material already but still loved class lectures, so at least she was having a good time. Their assigned homework was extremely simple and would be done in minutes unless Hermione went mad and wrote three feet for an eight-inch essay assignment. And what were the chances of that.

Once again, Harry managed the afternoon Transfiguration class exercise the first time but took a long time doing so. No one other than Hermione and him had actually succeeded last time (and his attempt reverted to a matchstick after only a few seconds), but this time several other students had modest successes also. Both he and his his bushy-haired friend got a point for Gryffindor for being awesome then Harry was told to take a rest.

Professor McGonagall watched him like a hawk as he sat and carefully didn't try to do any more magic. He felt okay, just a little faint, but he didn't want to draw the Professor's ire by pushing it, so he watched Hermione's tutorial with his other friends with vague interest.

Neville's match was sort of rolling around on his desk looking a little shinier and Ron's had several spiky wooden bits coming out of it, but they didn't seem to be making much progress. In full tiny-professor mode, Hermione huffed at their efforts and quickly started in lecturing them about concentration, focus, and not scraping their wands across the desk while attempting the spell. Both were getting something vaguely pointed on the correct ends after a few minutes of that, possibly more from fear of additional lecturing than the content of her tutoring. Hermione went back to trying increasingly more difficult versions of the matchstick to needle exercise at her desk.

"Professor," Harry said, surprising the older woman and making her jump a little, "Please, do you have a moment?" She had been watching Hermione as she continued to practice the spell with a confused look on her face which cleared when she turned to look at Harry.

"Yes Mr. Potter, what did you need?" she said sharply, but not unkindly.

"Uh, Professor, I was wondering...are there more exercises I could do? I've already sort of got the matchstick down. I mean, maybe I can't do it very much, but I think I understand the theory. I just need more..." Harry waved his hand vaguely. McGonagall winced a little, then her face was sternly frowning again.

"Your interest and dedication to your classwork does your House proud, Mr. Potter," she said, almost smiling, "but I can not honestly allow you to continue to more...strenuous exercises until you have more magical stamina." Seeing Harry's face drop, she quickly added.

"Do not look so down, Mr. Potter. I have seen you improve greatly already. Just give it time." She sighed, then continued. "The next level is working the spell and the reversal as many times as you can without errors. After that is multiple matchsticks at the same time as...Ms. Granger is...attempting." Harry followed her gaze and saw Hermione with an entire matchbox worth of matches spread out on her desk. With a couple of waves of her wand, she changed all of them to silver, pointy needles and back again. Doing it once more seemed to make her a little dizzy, but after a few seconds of rest she was able to repeat the process again perfectly.

"Uh," Professor McGonagall said, clearly distracted by Hermione's demonstration. She then returned her attention to Harry. "Right. Mr. Potter, here is the next homework assignment. You may work on this for the rest of the class period. If you finish it early, you may turn it in at the end of class." She handed him an assignment sheet and then returned to her desk, shaking her head a little.

Harry returned to reading the textbook to double-check the points he needed to cover on the homework essay, but he also tried to covertly get Hermione's attention. The bushy-haired girl was totally absorbed in her work, though, and didn't react to his gentle coughs and stares. Harry was worried that she was overdoing it a bit and it might draw too much attention. Hopefully it wouldn't cause any issues. In yet another change, most of the teachers by now must be suspecting how much power Hermione had.

In his previous timeline, she was a good student but hadn't dared to go much beyond perfecting the basic classwork, unless it was for what she later called a "Harry Crisis." Now, her friendship with him seemed to have fueled an interest in excelling far beyond anything taught in the classroom, and instead of spending all her time on writing (and over-writing) her homework assignments, she now pestered Harry to help her work on advanced Charms and obscure jinxes.

Hermione already had intermediate Switching down in Transfigurations, as well as most of the rest of the First Year classwork, but all only in theory. She was already well into the Third Year books but wouldn't try anything outside of class because it was slightly dangerous. Harry knew if McGonagall found out they were fooling around with advanced work she'd have kittens, so they planned to simply keep up with class spells in Transfiguration. Hermione had worked out a schedule to practice advanced Charms and the DADA combat and utility spells in their spare time over the next few weeks.

Harry getting started on the rather simple homework assignment but was still distracted by Hermione's work. By this point, Professor McGonagall had wandered back over to Hermione's desk again and was watching her continue to practice the impressive transfiguration.

"I believe that is enough, Ms. Granger," she said in a slightly strangled voice. "Umm, five points to Gryffindor for a most impressive mastery of this exercise. Please take a rest now. Class is almost over for today but you can work on the next homework assigned with Mr. Potter until the end of class." Hermione looked a little tired but her smile at the Professor's praise brightened the room even better than her Lumos spell. McGonagall actually cracked a small smile herself as she handed over an assignment sheet to the happily exhausted girl.

Hermione loved the class, but Charms was very, very awkward for Harry. Every class practical was nothing but the repetition of the same simple spells, over and over again. Hermione was, of course, constantly getting House Points awarded for the speed and strength of her spells. But Professor Flitwick took a very understanding position with Harry, and simply required him to practice the wand movements and pronunciation without forcing himself to actually use the power required to complete the spells.

Intent to use magic being a primary component in spells meant you couldn't accidentally do something if you instead meant to do nothing, not that you couldn't screw up a spell you were trying to cast spectacularly. Ducking a bright orange spark flying over his head, Harry made a mental note to remember to get Neville and Ron new, fitted wands somehow, and soon.

Professor Flitwick would take Harry aside at the end of class for a single, focused attempt at as many spells as Harry could manage, calling off the sessions before Harry felt too weak to continue. Even the simple First Year spells left Harry exhausted after only a few tries, though, and he couldn't even do that much on Thursdays because he still had to attend DADA afterward. At least the spells he got out were almost perfect.

Flitwick always dismissed Harry's apologies with a sad little smile, simply telling him he should continue doing his best. It was embarrassing for Harry, but so far none of his classmates had said anything about his special...problems. Thank gods they didn't have any classes but Potions with Slytherin this year.

Harry was glad to see how much Hermione enjoyed Transfigurations and Charms, as every interaction with McGonagall and Flitwick seemed to repair the emotional damage done by the abuse from her two worst teachers, the Death Eater and Voldemort's meat-puppet. Over the next two days, Hermione slowly relaxed again. Nightly conversations continued in the boy's dorm, now with Hermione setting up strong Silencing charms on the door, the closed curtains, and the stack of blankets themselves. They tried to stay with safer topics than future horrors – mostly advanced magical topics and which book Hermione would borrow from him next.

Hanging out with her Wednesday until their late, late night trip to the Astronomy tower brought to mind his next challenge: what to do about Hermione's birthday on the 19th. It was nine day away and he hadn't planned for Hermione knowing about his status as a time traveler. Sure, he'd picked up generic Birthday and Christmas gifts for her and his dorm mates during his second (secret) trip to Diagon Alley, but now he felt Hermione deserved something more...personal, more special. He racked his brain for hours for ideas but actually slapped himself in the head when he figured it out – obvious really, in retrospect.

The rest of the week was quiet as classes gradually became routine, with an exhausting and minimally participatory Charms and another strange DADA on Thursday. The non-spell-casting classes were a breeze, as most of them were either all theory (which he knew) or manual labor (which he could put up with).

Since that weekend, everyone had been very excited about the announcement of Flying Lessons. They were to be held Thursday afternoon after the rest of classes. Harry was less excited than most, but at least he'd be allowed to fly at school after taking it, something he hadn't realized until Fifth Year last time. It hadn't been a conspiracy or anything, it was just that he was already on the school team and no one bothered to tell him. Harry had originally joined the House Quidditch team because he didn't have any idea what it was or even how to say no, and anyway Ron was really into it so why not?

Of course in retrospect it made sense: Ron would have exploded if he had to go almost the entire ten months of the school year without flying, so of course you could do it at school outside of being on a Quidditch team. That must have been what he was doing some weekends when Harry was studying with Hermione or something that didn't involve the redhead. He simply didn't do it while Harry was around when at school, until he tried out for the team.

But this time around, he'd just fly on his own or with his friends. He wasn't allowed a personal broom at school yet, but flying with school brooms was allowed during the weekends for First Years so long as a teacher or prefect was supervising. Second year on, he could just fly whenever he wanted.

That was currently Harry's plan, as playing on the team took far too much time – time he needed to kill a Dark Lord and work out how to save his friends. Anyway, it would hardly be fair, given he'd ended up with more experience than anyone else at school could possibly have at this point. It wasn't like it was a professional team and he had no intention of playing pro anyway, so he had nothing to prove. Ron might be disappointed, but they would both just have to deal. There was zero change he'd trying anything stupid to get on the team, like...watching Neville fall and break his wrist then pull crazy stunts. Shit, he'd forgotten about that.

Having finally remembered from the future both Neville's disastrous fall and Hermione's utter terror until she was twenty of anything higher than a tall stool, Harry had decided to organize a study group Wednesday afternoon to get those who grew up without booms a little confidence and experience with the theory. Hermione brought books, cold logic, and a crippling fear of heights, Ron brought his magical upbringing, limitless enthusiasm, and an appetite, he brought snacks a cynical outlook on the magical world's educational system. As nice a person as Ms. Hooch was, she didn't seem to understand either the fear of flying or how anyone couldn't love it at first sight. She also forgot, of course, that anyone raised outside the magical would never have had a chance to see it at all (let alone fall in love with it) and therefore wouldn't have any examples to try and imitate.

Still, the idea seemed to have worked and instead of worrying herself into a twitching pile of tears at lunch that day, Hermione had cornered Ron between Neville on one side, Harry on the other, and some stewed meats on the table and was interrogating the poor boy relentlessly about safety measures and the specifics of possibly using a Cushioning charm while in a free-fall – you'd need to be fast as a snake and at least three stories up, she concluded, vowing to keep her wand in hand somehow.

The class that afternoon went off without a hitch, with Harry scoring maximum possible points for the practice course and Neville and Hermione actually being able to get off the ground without incident. Malfoy made a constant stream of foul comments when the teacher was far enough away not to hear, but because Hermione was too frightened by the broom riding to actually hex Malfoy into a greasy stain on the grass when he called her a "useless mudblood" for the seventh time, everyone escaped without a trip to the Hospital Wing. And any day without a visit to the Hospital wing was, to Harry, a good day.

And then Friday and Potions rolled around again. Hermione was quiet and terse all morning and seemed to disappear into her introverted, Perfect Little Professor persona before breakfast was over. Walking from the Great Hall to the dungeons with her was hard for Harry to handle. He kept wanting to tell her it was okay or at least it would _be_ okay soon, or maybe give her a hug, but she needed to stay inside the fake personality to keep her mental shields both up and hidden.

Harry was somehow able to clench his teeth and keep quiet all throughout the class, while Hermione was forced to redo a potion twice, still got a low score for it even though it was perfect, and was ignored every time she tried to raise her hand to answer a question. Snape even took points for "excessive hand waving" and "being too eager." By the end, she was once again sitting slumped staring at the table with her hands in her lap.

Harry's potion was, of course, almost perfect, as were a couple of other students', but Snape only commented on Malfoy's and his, giving them each points. Somehow, he made Harry's praise seem like only "keeping it fair" instead of something deserved because of skill, while Malfoy was put forward as the truly gifted student. It didn't bug him anywhere near as much as Hermione's treatment, though, and it broke his heart to see her shuffle out of the classroom again.

Catching up with Hermione in the corridor, he couldn't think of anything to say. She seemed to still be in character but he wasn't sure, she just marched forward with her head bowed and her frizzy brown hair covering her eyes. After walking up a couple of flights of stairs, she firmly reached out and grabbed Harry's arm.

"Harry, I need you," she said through clenched teeth. She then dragged him into a nearby empty classroom, closed the door, and started stripping off her robes.

Harry's brain locked up instantly and he found himself driven mute. He was trying to back through the closed classroom door, his mouth now simply hanging open. Turning around while she was working on taking off her tie, Hermione noticed Harry pressing himself flat against the door. Sal was still wrapped around her left arm and looked at him quizzically, his tongue flicking out.

"What's wrong, Harry?" she asked, still worrying at her uniform tie.

"Uh, I-I don't, umm," Harry stammered, frantically glancing around the room for something to help him explain how wrong this was to her and unlock his brain. Looking around the room herself, Hermione seemed to realize something was off.

"Oh, sorry Harry. You are quite right. This is not suitable at all." She sighed and looked at all the dusty furniture. "I got all stirred up and wasn't thinking. We could get in trouble for doing it here. Yes, we wouldn't want someone to walk in or the furniture to get broken in all the excitement. Seventh floor, corridor on the left, strange troll painting, right?"

She draped her robe and tie over her arm to hide Sal but left her shirt collar unbuttoned. Her long black skirt swished as she pulled Harry away from the door then she dragged him out of the classroom, down the corridors, and up the stairs until they were outside the Room of Requirement. Dipping briefly to the floor, she released Sal, who slithered rapidly down the corridor in the direction they hadn't come from. Hermione took a long look down the other way, then nodded her head and walked up to the blank wall. Pacing quickly back and forth, she opened the door that appeared and dragged him inside, waiting only a second for Sal to slither into the room behind her.

Instead of the Madam-Puddifoot-esque bedroom nightmare that the small, non-screaming corner of Harry's mind was expecting, he saw a mostly empty stone room with a series of things like dressmaker's dummies lined up in the middle, as if for a firing squad. They each had a simple, cartoonish cardboard face attached to them that looked suspiciously like Snape's ugly mug. The nose was unmistakable.

"Quite nice," Hermione said as she smartly closed the door behind them. She freed Harry from her clutches, dropped her discarded robe on a table by the entrance, pulled her wand out of her skirt pocket, and then dropped her wand arm to the floor to allow Sal to wrap around it again, all in quick succession. Sal was now wrapping around her right arm, from just above her elbow to just behind her wrist.

"I-I don't understand, Hermione. W-what did you...need me for?" Harry asked, his terror finally starting to disappear.

"Hmm?" she said, turning to look at him. "Oh, safety of course. I could fall or hurt myself or something, doing this."

Aiming downrange, almost seeming to sight down her Familiar, Hermione started firing off Banishing charms one after another, knocking the dummies across the rest of the room and into the walls. Pieces of them piled broken against the wall as Hermione kept casting, firing the spell over and over again at the line of dummies in front of her until they were all knocked down.

Her path clear now, she kept Banishing the broken bits again and again against the wall as she walked slowly forward. The wooden pile was now more splinters than recognizable parts. Once she reached the other side of the room, she whipped her wand around wildly and almost screamed "_Incendio!_" A large, blue flame licked out of her wand and scorched the stone floor and wall. Moving it in a brief wave, she burned the broken wooden bits to ash in a few seconds, then canceled the spell and stared at the smoking remains.

"Ah, that's better," she said, wiping her forehead with her non-wand-and-snake hand. "Think I figured out the strange power variance, too. But mostly, I just needed to break something again. Now I feel much better. I must say, this room really is something. Anyway, magic: I've got much better strength on my spells when Sal helps. Not totally sure what he's doing, but he really seems to like the fire ones and they have the most change from his help. Maybe you can talk to him about it later.

"Oh, and I don't think we'll get in any trouble Harry. I sent Sal out to scout around just in case before. I'm not planning on spending any more time here today so he can check for us again when we leave in a few minutes. Maybe I can figure out something else in the future, but I really, really felt like doing something violent after how today's class went. I hope you don't mind."

"I, uh, no," Harry said, greatly relieved. "I think your precautions are fine for now. Maybe...hmm, maybe you could cast at Black Lake? Or we could find a rocky wall somewhere?"

"Both good ideas, Harry," she said, smiling once again as she put her tie and robe back on. A quick look around by Sal and it was safe to make their way to the Great Hall.

After lunch, they scouted out some more remote locations for spell practice, one surprisingly enough near the Quidditch pitch. Harry was sure no one would care if they tried to light rocks on fire or banished branches around the grassy fields, but the remote location of the sports field was even better. It wasn't used much off-season and was usually deserted during the week as practices were mainly on the weekends and mornings (unless Wood went practice crazy again). They spent the rest of the day studying new spells they would try out later that weekend. Behind a pile of books in the library or in an open field where anyone could be hiding as a bug were not the best places to talk in secret, so they continued to met in his room for private and sensitive conversations.

This time, Hermione brought up using the same tunnels Harry had said the giant Basilisk used in Harry's odd past-future for her grass snakes, suggesting that they could scout out stuff for them until Harry got the Map. Harry wasn't sure that was such a good idea, but he could see the obvious advantages. Maybe it was just too much like something Voldemort would do – secrets and snakes and spying on people, but he really didn't like it. He told Hermione he'd think about it, but that they should still try to avoid using the Room of Requirement unless it was critical. Hermione frowned (obviously thinking of all the awesome things she could do with the room) but agreed that caution was the best plan for now.

Harry had some trouble sleeping that night, with strange disconnected fragments of images haunting his sleep. Waking up at way-too-early o'clock in the morning, he stumbled out of bed and headed to the bathroom, physically locking it behind him from long habit. He had just finished washing his hands and was just about to open the bathroom door when he heard a loud "pop" from behind and something struck him in the back of the knees. He fell forward and his head slammed into the doorknob, then he slumped to the floor in mind-searing pain, clutching his head.

The lights suddenly went out in the room, the magical, fake-oil lamps flicking off like a switch had been thrown (which didn't exist – they were magic, not electricity), then was a loud, wrenching crash rang out followed by the sound of spraying water, as if a sink had just exploded.

A muffled, high-pitched voice rasped menacingly from just above where he lay, still writhing in pain. "Stay away from her if you know what's good for you, Potter. We won't let you interfere with our plans." Harry tried to go for his wand, then something hard and metal connected with his head and everything was blackness.


	8. Chapter 8

**Harry Potter and the Witch Queen**

by _TimeLoopedPowerGamer_

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter.

**Summary: ** Harry Potter never actually beat Voldemort, but rather fought him to a standstill while Europe burned around them. Finding himself an unwilling part of a dark ritual to send him back in time 20 years, he is surprised to see how Dumbledore reacts to proof of obvious child abuse (Harry's), how 11 year old super-genius and Witch Queen in training Hermione reacts to actually having a socially competent friend (Harry), and how much easier it is to shrug off the insults of munchkins when you're a grizzled war veteran.

But there is one huge problem: being sent back blew out his magic entirely. Just waving his wand knocked him out the first time he tried it. Can Hermione help him though his classes even with his magic almost unusable? Will Harry be able to find the secrets to actually killing the Dark Lord and saving his friends from a horrible future without blowing his cover, or even getting mistaken for the Dark Lord himself? Will Neville Longbottom get better grades than him?

**On Content: **Canon-Harry lives in a dark world. This one is darker, with evil turned up to 11 and actual adult situations: everyone is more magical and dangerous, witches and wizards are preternaturally attractive and seductive, people are meaner, magical creatures are horrifying and have back stories, Harry has worse mental issues, teenagers are hornier, villains actually torture and kill people before the last book, etc. Rated M for Maliciousness.

**Author's Note**: I've got a new forum set up on this site to talk to people about the story. Drop by to ask me questions or talk about stuff to other people reading my stories. I'll also be posting stuff about my progress to the next chapter and a whiny excuse if I miss a deadline. See my Profile page for details and a link.

Of course, I still welcome normal reviews, but any questions asked in the forum can receive a public answer that everyone can see. Do both! Or neither! I'll try to answer all questions in a timely manner.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Harry woke as fire licked at one side of his head – but he was unburned. He was conscious of being conscious, but just barely. Everything hurt and he couldn't seem to get his eyes open. It hurt to try. It hurt to be conscious. It hurt to be. Harry knew he was in bad shape – abstract concepts didn't usually ache like that. No, that didn't make any sense. Shit, he was loopy. Concussion for sure. He tried to move but nothing would respond correctly. He involuntarily let out a soft moan of pain and frustration. The arm on his uninjured side flopped a little.

"Harry!" a deep, frantic voice yelled. He could smell lemons and fire and old wooden furniture. A presence, maybe two that were really one, violently filled the room from corner to corner, pouring in like from a dam suddenly breaking. He Felt Peril for Evil, Protection for the Weak, and Hope that Burned as Bright in the Last Hour as the First. He felt small.

He must really be in bad shape if he was sensing magic like this again. That only happened when his magic was trying to keep his brain awake and functioning. Or if he had a bad head injury and it was trying to prevent him from rapidly losing IQ points. Or maybe if he was fighting especially hard against Voldemort trying to take over his mind.

Maybe that was all that was keeping him alive now, his magic. Most of the time, he couldn't get readings from people passively, but with increased levels of magic in his brain he had a much better sense for things. But he didn't think further about that. It was going to be okay now that...whoever that was was here. He knew them, the two who were one. They wouldn't let him die. Letting out a shuttering breath, he started to relax a little. It hurt to breathe, but everything would be okay now for some reason. He wasn't thinking clearly.

There was the sound of hurried footsteps and kicked porcelain rattling wetly across the floor. Someone knelt by his side and gently touched his shattered face with a shaking hand. **Pain**. He would have screamed if he could have. Instead, he only felt himself groan softly again. "Oh no, Harry. What has happened to you now? Who would do this?" the voice said shakily.

"Fawkes," it said to its other self, commanding and clear now, "take him to a bed in the hospital wing then return for me so I can alert Madam Pomfrey to his condition. Hurry!"

A pair of large talons gripped his arm, then he was on fire but did not burn, then he was in another place and falling. He dropped about a half a foot, landing on something soft with a thud that made him lose whatever meager grip on consciousness he had before. His body was a solid mass of pain that drove all thoughts from his mind, bringing blackness once again.

* * *

"_Harry," a soft female voice cooed above him. His magical senses returned to him and he Felt the enormous, smothering sense of a Dragon's Unstoppable Flame, the Death of Hope, and the oily Darkness of the Shadows of the Forest. At a distance was the roiling caldron of Burning Desire, a Chained Soul, and Despair of the Heart. He opened his eyes and saw...shit, Her. Everything rushed back at once. His wife, dead. Him, captured and about to be forced into a ritual of Dark magic by a madwoman, Her overwhelming magic now affecting his perceptions._

_He'd fainted. He wasn't too macho to admit that. The Witch Queen had started giving him an odd lecture on how to scout out his destination after a successful time travel trip, his wife bleeding out in the background. He had been too stunned to react until a few minutes in, then he lost it. The Thorn Witch, Ginny Granger, had silenced him with a casually cast spell after he'd started screaming. Then they'd simply continued setting up the room for what was to come as he silently sobbed and thrashed in his chains, watching his wife slowly die in front of him. _

_Then he passed out. Now he was awake again and could see nothing much had changed. Ginny was still inscribing something around the stone altar in a wide circle with a dark piece of coal. Hermione was writing something on a long piece of parchment, the hovering quill moving on its own while She silently read some ancient looking book with a suspiciously odd looking leathery cover. He had to stop himself from thinking about the source of the skin. He had to stop this ritual somehow. There was no way this would work, She had to know that._

_He avoided turning his head to look at the corner of the room where his wife's lifeless body still hung on an inverted cross, but he couldn't avoid seeing the large glass bottles lined up on a table next to him, filled with what was obviously Luna's blood. There were so many of them. He felt faint with grief and wanted to throw up. How could he go on now that she was dead. A part of his heart seemed to be missing._

_A buzzing in his head deafened him for a moment, a distant, whispered tune ran through his thoughts like a ghost, then his mind was clear again. He was upset about something, but right now he needed to focus on his current situation. Gather information. React quickly if he got an opportunity to escape. He could work on whatever it was later. The most dangerous witch in the world was about to do something horrible to him. Had already done something horrible, but that wasn't important now. He needed to focus._

"_Good, you're back with us." Hermione Granger, Witch Queen of the Isles, stared down at him with a gentle look and black pits for eyes. "It is time to finish your markings."_

_She waved a hand at him, silently casting. __He tried to say something __in reply but __realized he couldn't move at all, __his limbs frozen and his muscles locked in place in the chains__. __A __casual__ly cast __silent, wandless Freezing Charm__. That was so Hermione. __She put the book down and picked up __Her__ silver ritual knife and a shallow bowl. Placing the items next to him, __Sh__e sliced deeply into __H__er __own __wrist without hesitation or flinching. The blood__ dripped rapidly__ into the bowl. __She seemed unconcerned and started lecturing to him._

"_Interesting thing to note," She said as She seemed to pluck Her wand from midair. Her current wand, that was – She'd lost at least half a dozen in battles over the years. Always seemed to end up with dragon heartstring, though. This one looked like Her original wand in make – a vinewood base and (undoubtedly) a dragon heartstring core. That didn't surprise him; there was more than a little of the Dragon in Her._

_Fire spells were Her favorites, She had always had a frighteningly powerful magical core, and She had a temper that was stunning to witness. Fiercely intelligent, She had slumbered nearly Her entire childhood at Hogwarts, curled up in the dark library stacks, resting on the piles of carefully horded knowledge. When young, Hermione Granger had been a quiet, studious girl, only occasionally joining in Harry's dangerous antics, and only as a last resort when Her friends were in danger. No one had suspected what the loss of Her favorite place on the planet, along with the young man She'd loved, would do to Her._

"_Harry," She said sharply, peering down at him again, "do pay attention. We have some time until the ritual is ready. You might as well learn something. Who knows when it will help you in the past? As I was saying, the last component gave me pause at first. When I was working out the Arithmancy of the ritual, I came across the requirement of the 'Blood of a Virgin' as a strong binding element. As you may know, that always requires a magical virgin, a witch or wizard. In this case, the power requirements were thankfully for an adult, not a child. Which was good, because Dark rituals usually mean sacrificing the virgin; you know my opinion on killing children._

"_Usually, that kind of requirement is troublesome with an adult magical, though. Do you have any idea how few magicals make it to so-called magical adulthood at seventeen (a magical number) without having sex? Not. Many. Even in stuffy, stuck-up Hogwarts, the kids copulated like rabbits. Sexually repressed magical teenagers are even worse about accidental magic than pre-Hogwarts-age children and they are also between twice and four times as strong on average, so most of the time parents and teachers just look the other way and let them work off their frustrations so long as they do it safely and consensually." She chucked quietly, then smirked._

"_It was actually a joke, you know? Among the Fourth Year girls at Hogwarts. 'Less likely than a Virgin Puff Prefect.' Crude, but one of the Ravenclaw girls actually did a series of interviews of Fifth through Seventh year Puffs. She confirmed that the last seven years of Puff prefects' pre-Fifth-Year sexual activities supported that joke. The Puffs were rather proud of it, actually, and fully supported the student study, posting the results on the House bulletin board. Good for them – a little happiness in a bleak world." She looked a little lost and stared out into the darkened room for a moment, then returned to Her lecture mode._

"_Anyway, specifics: it is the act of making love to someone that does it – removing the state of magical virginity, I mean. Mystically speaking, it is not any specific sexual act, but it does have to directly involve physical contact with someone of the opposite sex with magical abilities and stimulation to climax." She blinked twice and visibly got sidetracked again._

"_Did you know there was a section of the Department of Mysteries in the old British Ministry of Magic that studied, and I quote, 'Love'? Yeah, not love. Corrupt, closed-minded plutocrats, the Unspeakables, but brilliant at getting funding. The stuffy fogies (and the rare batty old biddies) thought it was romantic to fund research on Love – the old wives adored the appropriations bills for it – but they'd never have agreed to pay for sex research by name. The Unspeakables assigned to that sub-department studied the effect of sex, affection, marriage, and various levels of emotional closeness between magicals. I stole their secret encoded and warded research notes after the Ministry was destroyed._

"_Love potions, Veela auras, married couples, the stability and attributes of all mathematically possible multiple partner relationships, straight-up orgies – behind those closed doors, they studied it all. Such a loss to the world. It was detailed, exhausting research," She snorted at Her own wording, "but those brave, perverted Unspeakables tried it all. Not even the French Ministry of Magic had anything to match it. Something to be said for corrupt, bloated government departments with no oversight."_

_Hermione was coolly cynical about it now, but Harry knew how much She had hated the Ministry and their incompetence before its destruction. She'd always been interested in the Department of Mysteries, though, and he thought She might have ended up a high-ranking Unspeakable researcher if Voldemort hadn't taken over. And maybe if, as she had suggested in an hour-long lecture, the Unspeakable's binding magical oaths weren't so detrimental to academic freedoms._

"_Well, the point is that such consensual sexual contact with the opposite sex spoils the blood for this kind of sacrifice. Interesting that those rituals using virgin blood are almost universally Dark, but Dark rituals don't typically use Pure or Light components at all – nothing spoils a Dark ritual quite like spilling salt over it or touching it with a unicorn hair. When they do use such items, they are almost always heavily and ritually corrupted first. Not virgin blood, though. That's almost always used as-is. _

"_That very strongly empirically suggests that it isn't a loss of Purity or Brightness for a magical to have intimate relations with the opposite sex (this is ignoring mundanes and same-sex relationships for now, as we can't prove anything with magic there). Rather, it seems the very essence of both the Male and Female elements of the Light itself – Love, Joy, and Life Triumphant – is infused into one's physical form for the rest of its days. It is my theory that this sharing of the nature of their Power fills some weakness that Dark magic exploits for rituals._

"_I am not sure exactly what solo or same-gendered interactions do to witches and wizards. I would assume it works toward balancing the Light natures of those involved, bringing the Dimmest up to some state closer to that of the Brightest participant. Maybe dragging the other down, but Light rituals don't usually work like that. And it is clear that making love is a powerful Ritual of the Light. Didn't look into rape and its effects. I am simply not interested in ways to drag anyone into the Darkness, so I returned to my research, attempting to narrow down the requirements more._

"_Imagine my additional relief when it turned out that it wasn't actually a life sacrifice that was required but just a bloodletting. Knowing that, I didn't need to go any further. I triple checked my calculations, confirmed the results, and realized that I had a ready solution. Namely, my own blood." She noticed Harry's minor facial muscle changes (the limit of what he could do, plus breathing), indicating his surprise. She waved Her wand and instantly healed the cut, the bowl now full of Her dark red blood._

"_That's right, Harry. Never. I think you know why. Had to be mine, though. Ginny's blood wouldn't work. We're rapidly nearing two decades too late for that." Hermione pursed Her lips in minor disapproval, then Her face cleared again. Harry ran the numbers and got...maybe Second or Third Year? Wow._

"_Her continued...enthusiasm for life is an inspiration to me every day," Hermione said, glancing over at Ginny. Harry could move his eyes to see where the redhead was currently bending over at the waist, checking some runic pattern on the floor against a piece of parchment she was holding. On hearing her Dark Mistress' comments, she bent lower to ride her tiny skirt further up her legs. She paused, then reached back with her free hand and flipped it up all the way, showing off her entire rear and tiny bright green panties. Then she wiggled her ass back and forth several times at them. He wasn't sure why Ginny wore the illusion of panties with her illusory clothing, but it was a convincing glamour. Hermione rolled Her eyes (or appeared to roll them – She didn't actually have eyes) and turned back to Harry. She dipped Her wand into the bowl of Her blood and started inscribing runes on his chest._

"_Once this is done," She said, "we finish the focusing matrix in...the other blood and run final imbuing with the temporal tether to your wand. We've already got your curse scar soul fragment reverse-bonded to the timeless representation of Voldemort's Horcrux array. Good thing we never destroyed any more or there wouldn't be enough of his soul left in this point in space-time to anchor things. If this doesn't work, I'll keep trying to destroy them, of course. But I'm almost sure it will. Work, that is." Hermione finished Her rune work, floated the bowl of blood over to a table behind Her without looking, and cleaned Her wand with a glance. She then appeared to shove it straight into Her chest like a mundane stage magician's trick, the wand disappearing completely in a second._

"_Oh!" She exclaimed, leaning over him to cup his chin in one hand. "Just one more thing. You need to accept your part in this ritual. It only works on willing participants." Harry's stony glare obviously displeased Her. "Harry, if you don't do this, Luna's sacrifice will be pointless! Look, I'll help you." Threading Her other hand into his hair, She once again pulled Her wand from nowhere. She slowly waved it over his head, then put Her wand away in midair and cupped his face in both hands. She stared deep into his eyes and a soft pressure covered his senses. There was a buzzing in his mind again and he felt faint._

"_Harry, you will obey me," She whispered. The ebony holes in Her face stared into his green eyes. He continued to glare at Her, not sure what this was._

"_Obey," She stated simply. This was pointless, he wasn't going to allow Her to get away with this. Then the soft push became a vise, crushing his resistance. He suddenly realized his mental shields were being undermined and Hermione was already inside them. Her magic filled him. It burned, an acid in his brain._

"_Obey," She commanded for the magical third time. Harry's eyes flew wide open and he stopped breathing for almost a minute, staring straight ahead. He couldn't feel anything and his mind was empty._

"_Harry," She said, and the world bent under Her words, "I can't make you do this, but I can remove all other desires and focus your attention. I know a part of you wants to do this. I want, I **need **you to want to complete this ritual. Please, my old friend. Do this for me." Of course he would, Harry thought. Otherwise...someone's sacrifice...it was blurry. He couldn't remember the reasons. But maybe he'd get a chance to escape if he just played along. Hermione saw something in his eyes that seemed to please Her and with a wave of Her hand he could move once again._

"_Good, Harry. Doesn't that feel better?" She asked softly, stroking his cheeks. He closed his eyes and refused to look at her. "What do you care?" he asked in a growl, his voice still raw from screaming. Why had he been screaming? Was he forgetting something? He wished She'd just get on with it. When the ritual inevitably failed, She'd be distracted and weak and then he could try to escape. She'd already said there would be a magical pulse that would cancel out charmed lights. Maybe it would weaken or destroy the Anti-Disapparition wards. That was his hope at least._

"_It is almost the end. Give me one last kiss." Hermione said suddenly, ignoring his question. Harry's eyes snapped open wide as She took off Her thick robes with a single regal gesture, handing them to one side as if to an invisible assistant. The clothing disappeared before it hit the floor. "Now," She commanded. Of course he would. It was still Hermione asking; even after everything, he still cared for Her. He still..._

_His eyes were drawn to her now-visible white blouse, billowing out slightly where it outlined Her modest breasts. Subtle magic, not a brassiere, supported them. As She brought Her lips inches from his, he returned his gaze to her face, seeing her waiting expectantly for him. His eyes locked with the sad black pits in her face, then he craned his neck a little and gently met Her lips with his own. Her eyelids drooped as She pressed down a little harder, leaning over him and carefully avoiding smearing the blood runes on his chest. Her firm breasts nudged against his arm where it was chained to the altar. He was overwhelmed by her presence above him, soft and warm and enormously powerful, a deity in human form. He worshiped her eagerly, straining against his bonds._

_Her mouth opened slowly but hungrily over his and she groaned softly as he touched Her lips with his tongue, Her breath catching as he boldly pressed deeper, searching for more ways to please Her. Shifting slightly, she began to repeatedly rub Her nipples against him – they were as hard as stone, obvious through her thin blouse. After he briefly dueled Her tongue with his own, a battle which She won of course, She moaned then pulled back slowly while gently biting his lower lip. Hermione stared into his eyes for a moment then leaned in again, brushing Her cheek against his, nuzzling his neck._

_Harry was shocked speechless, trying to process what had just happened. That kiss had been...amazing, but something had felt wrong. Her lips had tasted bitter-sweat, a Darker Feeling than that first time, so long ago in the ruins of England. There was something else, something he was forgetting. Hermione didn't seem to notice anything wrong, though. He needed time to think about what that meant, but now he Felt as well as heard the ritual wards starting to power up, a subsonic hum that shook his bones._

"_T-that was nice, Harry," She whispered shakily in his ear. "Thank you."_

_She took a deep breath, tickling his ear, then continued. "We're sending you back soon and you need to remember what is important: Kill Voldemort. Protect your friends. Seek out my younger self for help, and help her, me, if you can – you remember my...issues. And never, ever forget – I've always loved you and I'll be yours throughout all time, for all eternally, even if you don't realize it. Even if yet again I can't...if we will never be together, I will still fight by your side." He felt her shiver a little, her soft chest still pressed against his arm, then She continued, "I could...I could make you love her, the young me back then – but I won't. I am capable of much, but I would never do that, not to you. What is important is that she will love you again all on her own. I am sure of this, because you are who you are and my love is forever, from the first moment I saw you." She leaned back and looked into his eyes again._

"_That day, the day we became Three, I wasn't crying because of what Ronald had said. I wouldn't cry all afternoon because of that. I had had worse said about me, worse done to me, as you well know. It was you: what you didn't say, that you never stopped him, that you didn't seem to even notice me. I didn't know your own pain. I'm sorry. Please, this time...tell me. She can help you as much as you help her. Let her in, let me in."_

_She pressed Her cheek to his again and...no, it couldn't be. He would swear he felt Her tears wetly touch his cheek. But that was impossible – She didn't **have** tear ducts anymore. As the hum grew louder, he could barely hear Her whispered words. "Now save us all one more time, Harry. My hero. My Love." Hermione softly kissed his cheek and moved away, stepping carefully over the completed runes. As he thought, Her face looked dry._

_Ginny was just finishing up pouring the outer blood seals, channels dug into the stone floor filling with the red liquid, the now-empty glass containers lining a wall to one side. A few candles still surrounded them, providing the only light in the room. His wand was on a pedestal near his feet, surrounded by more runes and painted with more blood. He could still feel Her lips on his, Her body pressed against him. His head was spinning and he felt faint._

_She was turned away now and Her wife was hugging Her close. Hermione was shaking silently with Her head pressed into Her wife's shoulder. Ginny's hands softly caressed Hermione's back, her cat-like eyes closed, her narrow face filled with pain. She seemed to be whispering something to Hermione. Was She...was The Witch Queen crying? It didn't...he couldn't seem to think straight._

_They stayed like that for several silent minutes, then Hermione straightened up and seemed to collect Herself. With a wave of Her wand, both of their outfits, real and illusion, were gone. They separated and took their places at each of his sides. The two immensely Powerful and beautiful witches stood naked in shallow pools of blood, chanting something he couldn't hear over the room-shaking noise while waving their wands in involved patterns, mad painters with sparkling brushes. Runes gradually appeared on their naked bodies, covering them in intricate patterns. Things seemed to be graying out in his vision and the buzzing in his ears wouldn't go away. He couldn't remember why he was here, what was happening, but he wasn't fighting it anymore. He just wanted it to work and for everything to be over. Blackness started to fall over his eyes. He felt like he was going to-_

_Then there was nothing but infinite darkness, forever._

* * *

Harry woke once more, gasping into sudden awareness. There had been another dream but his scar was, once again, the only thing not hurting. So not Voldemort. Probably. Most likely. Also, this time he remembered a dream about the Witch Queen. There had been memories about that macabre lecture on blood and virgins, rants about sex and magic, vaguely remembered details about...the end. There had been something else as well, something...beautiful lost. But now, after the nightmare was over, there just a vague sense of confusion and sadness.

Everything was quiet except for a distant murmuring. One of his eyes was able to open to a slit, enough to see the blurry curtains around him. The smells, the cot...hospital wing. Right. Then the sound of running feet, louder than anything else. There were sudden protests, cut off by hurried words he couldn't hear, then a fuzzy brown blur was hovering over him.

Harry felt Her presence flow over him, but not as he remembered it from so long ago – She was now a flickering warmth, a Candle where there had once been a Raging Inferno. The rest was obscured because She was shouting magic, the cries echoing louder than who She was. He Felt a Fire Burning Bravely in a Cold Draft, Fear of Mortality, and Anguish of the Soul.

"Harry! O-OH GOD HARRY, what happened?!" She said in a panic, Her blurry hands, so small, were clutched in front of Her face. Harry tried to say something but his lips were numb and his jaw wouldn't move right. Didn't hurt as much as it should; must be medical numbing charms.

"N-no, d-don't try and (ohgodyourface), d-don't s-say anything! You're so, j-just don't...oh Harry, why did this happen? How could...in the dorms." She was babbling randomly now, Her blurry hands shaking as they reached out toward him. She barely touched his chest, then turned away, Her face in Her hands.

"It isn't possible. I don't have the- But I have to...I-I-I'm sorry, Harry I c-can't, I j-just can't!"

Then She ran out of the hospital wing, Her feet echoing on the floor. Harry still couldn't focus, didn't know what She was saying. It didn't seem worth holding onto...not worth staying-

* * *

"Harry," a deep voice said, bringing him awake once again. It felt like his body was totally disconnected but he was able to breathe and successfully swallow a couple of times without passing out from pain, so that seemed like a good sign.

"Harry, we need to ask you a few questions. I am sorry to have to wake you, but time could be important."

He opened his eyes. No, eye, the other was still swollen shut. Still, good progress. Blurry Dumbledore was standing by his side, filling up the room as usual. Blurry McGonagall was just behind him – or at least something that looked female, tall, blurry, and Felt Stern and Upright, a Wall of Order. He was still passively Feeling magic. That wasn't a good sign.

"Profe'rr," he rasped out. He coughed a few times, then tried again. "Professors. What happened?"

"That is what we were hoping to ask you, Mr. Potter," the Blurry Headmaster said. "Did you see who attacked you?"

Harry started to shake his head then gasped in pain. Right, head injury. "No, Professor. I was attacked from behind. Someone hit me in the legs and then turned the lights off. I didn't see who did it."

Blurry Dumbledore sighed and sat down wearily on a blurry chair-shape that hadn't been there a second ago. Rubbing his temples, he thought quietly for a few minutes. "This is a most unusual situation. An assault like this at Hogwarts is unprecedented. We will find out who attacked you Mr. Potter and make sure they are brought to justice. For now, you need to heal. Madam Pomfrey says that with her care and healing potions, you will be in fine shape in no time. It is entirely likely, I am sorry to say, that you will miss few if any classes." Harry could almost see the twinkle the Headmaster's eye.

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir," he said, trying to smile but thinking he'd likely failed. Pomfrey (unique enough that her blurriness didn't matter much – the Knife that Bleeds out Poison, Sickbed Hierophant) bustled around the curtain and handed him what looked like the first of four blurry potions she had on a tray.

"Well Mr. Potter," Blurry Headmaster said, "I now leave you to Poppy's able care. We have locked down the entire Ward – no one gets in or out without our knowledge. You will be safe here under the medical monitoring charms while you heal." He stood (his blurry chair-thing disappearing again) and patted Harry's arm in commiseration. "I hope you will eventually learn to stand the taste of medical potions, Mr. Potter. I never managed it myself." He then nodded and walked past Professor McGonagall, leaving Harry with his Head of House and Madam Pomfrey.

"Get well, Mr. Potter," Blurry McGonagall said shortly, her voice sounding rough and burred, her comportment blurry and tense. "I look forward to seeing you back in class." As she started to turn, Harry spoke up again.

"Professor, please wait," he croaked, holding the first, still undrunk, potion in his hand. Blurry McGonagall turned around and waited.

"Would it be possible, I mean," he started, then the room seemed to spin around. He took a deep breath and tried again. "Would you let Hermione Granger know everything that's happening? Please? And let her see the bathroom before you clean it and fix it up, if she asks. I, uh, I get the feeling she will." Blurry McGonagall looked at him silently for almost a minute. Madam Pomfrey was still hovering.

"I will...take that into consideration, Mr. Potter," the stern woman said at last. "Now drink your potions and get some rest." She continued to stare at him while he drank down the first three awful potions, watching closely when he paused on the fourth and last.

"Professor, please tell her not to worry about me," he said. "I, I know she's really upset, but... but I'm going to be fine."

"You will and I will do as you request, Mr. Potter. Now. Take. Your potion."

"Yes Professor," he replied with a sigh, chugging down the sleeping draught which was, of course, his last potion. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow. A soft blackness covered his mind and he felt pain no more.

* * *

Harry woke with a start. He was automatically reaching for his wand and glasses before the crushing pain in his head brought him to his senses. Right. hospital wing, head trauma. One of these days he'd remember before doing that. He heard the click-clack of Madam Pomfrey's shoes on the floor and then she appeared with a blurry pile of clothes in her arms and a blurry potion on a tray. Goodie. She put everything down on a side table then waved her blurry wand over him and clucked her tongue.

"Mr. Potter, you are perfectly healthy now," she said briskly, clearly displeased to see him under her care again. "Congratulations. Take this potion now and then leave my ward and don't come back for at least a month." She shoved the blurry potion into his hand as Harry found his glasses and put them on. After he took what he recognized from long, horrible taste experience as a pain relief potion under her watchful eye, she left him with the curtains drawn closed while he dressed. His wand and makeshift wand holster (which he slept wearing, slightly loosened) was with his outer school robe, but he didn't have anything to wear under it but his current hospital tunic and loose fitting generic hospital pants. His pajamas must have been covered in blood and cut off of him. Standard emergency procedure. His oversized, second-hand pajamas were most likely a lost cause. Nothing of value lost, he didn't care.

He saw there was no one else in the empty hospital ward when he pulled the curtain back from his bed. As he was moving to leave, Madam Pomfrey stopped him at her desk near the exit arch and handed him a wooden box with 22 potions in it, two different types.

"Take one of each type, blue and green, after every meal for the next four days, Mr. Potter – that excludes the breakfast you missed this morning," she said, not looking up from her desk. "Do not skip any meals or potions. Try to relax for the rest of the day. No running around or casting spells. Professor McGonagall is scheduling a visit with Doctor Tonks later today – she said she will give you the details personally when she has them. Now get out of here." As he was about to step through the door, she stopped him again with a quick wave.

"Oh, and Mr. Potter: a Ms. Granger stopped by several times while you were asleep. A few of your other classmates also showed up to visit, but she was especially insistent that you talk to her once you were better." Madam Pomfrey looked down her nose at him sternly. "She seemed very worried about you. You should talk to the poor girl. She was practically in tears every time I saw her. She haunted the hospital wing throughout the day Saturday and even showed up once today before breakfast."

"Ah, yes ma'am," Harry said quickly, still intimidated by the proud healer even after knowing her for years in the future. "I was already planning on finding Hermione for a chat. So...what time is it? And, err...what day?"

"Late Sunday morning on the 15th, Mr. Potter, almost lunch. Do not skip lunch. Get on with you." She was glaring at him impatiently and he quickly left.

Walking down the cold, empty corridors, Harry felt disconnected. He was also feeling very twitchy. He had his wand again but all the potions had left him weak and shaky. He only had so much magical reserves as it was and many magical healing potions used the body's own power to repair things. He had been in very bad shape Saturday morning, and it had apparently taken all of Saturday and much of today to fix him up. At least nothing had to be vanished and regrown this time, but he wasn't in good fighting shape right now, even by his current pathetic standards. He had to lean against a wall for a minute before tackling the stairs.

Someone had ambushed him inside a locked room and apparently hadn't been caught. Not a good sign. Voldemort's shade and Slytherins were his first two suspects, but it didn't feel right. The voice could have been disguised but it hadn't sounded like a normal adult. Given magic, though, literally perfect disguises were entirely possible. He needed to talk to Hermione. Maybe she had more information. Hell, maybe she had solved it already.

When he reached the Gryffindor common room, Harry realized that something was very, very wrong. As he walked through the portrait hole entrance, he suddenly stopped, frozen in his tracks. Several older students were studying, or at least trying to. They seemed jittery and kept flipping through the reference books in front of them and fiddling with their quills. No younger students were present, which was a little unusual, and the room was almost empty (very unusual, based on Harry's odd, impossibly long school experience). The NEWT students (who else would be studying this hard) all had bits of fluff stuck in their ears and kept glancing nervously at the stairs to the boys' dorm where faint violin music was drifting out.

A vague sense of unease was starting to creep into his mind. He walked slowly toward his dorm room, the music growing louder along with the itchy feeling of something intruding on his mind. By the time he was at the door to the First Year boys' room, he was looking over his shoulder almost every step and feeling jumpy and unsettled.

The violin continued to swoop gently in a simple, searching, disturbing tune. He couldn't place it but he had never been much of a music buff. Something like this, magical and emotional and piercing, could change his mind about that. He'd heard of music magic before, hell he'd sung in a Ritual Circle with three French Hit Wizards once during a long stakeout near Bern. Wand magic would have been detected as they were inside the inner wards of the target, as would an easily spotted normal fire, so they used a much older Power and sat inside a runic circle to keep warm.

The simple folk tune was magically burned into his mind still, along with the phonetically repeated French words. If he ever needed to use it again, the repetition and continuous outpouring of magic had ensured that he'd remember it like it was yesterday. One of the drawbacks of that type of Power was, you magically couldn't forget the experience of the ritual. Ever. But they hadn't frozen to death, so even given the drawbacks the technique got a ringing endorsement from him. The thing he was confused about was, who was playing and what was the spell?

The sound of the violin was definitely coming from the First Year's room, the one he shared with four other boys. None of whom played an instrument, he was almost certain. He had known all of them for...well, most of their tragically short lives. Only Ron had escaped the Fall of Hogwarts by simply not being there. But none of them had ever mentioned music as even a passing hobby.

Inching his head around the doorway, he saw the room empty of young wizards but full to the brim with the smartest magical of this era (and possibly all time). It was like looking into an oven. She inhabited the entire room, stretching from corner to corner, filling it full and overfull with music and Power. It spilled out into the hall, practically a physical wall hitting him in the face. Harry took a step into the room and slumped against the wall to avoid the near material force of it simply driving him out of the room.

Standing in front of the tempest he felt stripped naked. Foreign emotions buffeted him, strange and smelling of dusty shelves and lonesomeness. Thoughts of Power, the feeling of a book full of secrets and hidden knowledge just in front of him, and endless and crushing impatience and worry pressed down on him. And something...half remembered, something that reminded him of Dumbledore, something that was eternal, something that _burned_. The source of all of it was the oddly intense girl with the bushy hair.

Hermione was playing a slightly dinged-up violin at the foot his bed, swaying slightly to the music. Her arm pumped vigorously as the bow snapped from one simple but perfect note to another. It wasn't a complicated tune, but she seemed to be putting everything she had into it. The instrument thrummed with the magical power being relentlessly thrown into the music. The idea that it was something by Bach entered his head, but that might just have been the fact that he knew two classical composers, both began with "B", and that one was alphabetically first.

He jumped as she suddenly stopped playing, her bow pausing in midair, her eyes now locked onto him. The incomplete musical thought, the missing chord she hadn't played, almost physically hurt him, a ghostly aching in his thoughts. Then a magical wave that seemed to be sounding the next note all on its own flowed over him and soothed his mind. The room was still full of power, but it waited now, crouched low and tense. He briefly hoped this wasn't some complicated accidental magic about to combust the room with arcane fire, then Hermione took a deep breath and the pressure eased to the usual, merely worrying levels around her.

"Harry. It's...ever so good to see you," she said softly, blinking slowly, not seeming entirely there. She tucked her bow onto her left hand pinky and kept the violin at her shoulder as she shook her wand from her sleeve with one quick motion. She brought it up and waited, pointing it vaguely in Harry's direction. He stood frozen and speechless.

"The door please, Harry," she commanded evenly, her eyebrows drawing together slightly in impatience. He reached out and closed it softly, then moved out of the way as she started casting silencing spells on the doors, every fixture in the room, all of the beds and trunks, the walls and the windows. Hedwig had to duck from where she was sitting on the windowsill to avoid being hit by her spell. Flexing her fingers on the wand, she nodded to Harry and said, "Take a seat, please. We need to talk and it can't wait."

Harry went over to his bed and sat facing her as she continued to stand slightly stiffly in front of him. He noticed all five of her snakes gathering on his bed behind him, all staring intently at him. Hedwig had turned to watch as well. Hermione waved her wand in a small circle that included Hedwig, Harry, and the snakes on the bed, then pointed it at herself, firmly saying "_Muffliato._" She put the wand back on a table.

They'd gone over that one last week, him recalling and teaching her the strange spells from that odd inventor and author – Harry never had found out who had been writing the rather Dark spells in the used Potions textbook he'd borrowed. The identity of the Half-Blood Prince was another mystery he'd need to solve someday, but this time's Hermione had taken to them as easily as in his original timeline.

As if she'd already been in a long discussion with him on the topic, Hermione jumped right into a conversation, already in progress. "This violin was what I found as an emotional outlet. I knew I was having...issues after I saw you, you...a-and I couldn't just bottle them up any longer. I didn't want to blow off steam by simply blowing things up without someone else there to make it safer, and I really find violence distasteful and brutish, and so...I went to the Room of Requirement and asked for a way to safely let me release magical and emotional stress." She fidgeted a little and wouldn't look at Harry, instead staring at the ground.

"There was a small music studio inside, with some dusty sheet music, empty shelves, and this violin and bow on a small table. I wrapped them up in a dust sheet I found – so I wouldn't touch them obviously. Of course, I then took them to Professor McGonagall to make sure they weren't cursed or anything. She took them to Professor Flitwick, and, well, long story short, both items are perfectly safe, worth a small fortune, and attuned magically as if they were made for me. After they heard me play, they uh..." Hermione frowned and toed the ground.

"I was very upset so I'm sure I didn't play very well, it was just a recital piece I remembered from a few years ago, but they said the original Hogwarts music program, which according to _Hogwarts, A History_, was discontinued in 1917 for some reason they really don't clearly explain, was an optional set of classes covered by standard tuition along with the instrument to be played, if a personal instrument was assigned, so they decided to use this as a loophole and declared me an independent student of the musical arts at Hogwarts. The only one, in fact. I will have to give at least two private recitals to the Deputy Headmistress and some other teachers every year, but otherwise the violin is mine to keep and I can take it home on holiday." Winding down again, Hermione sighed then took several deep breaths and squared her shoulders again, tucking the violin in tighter.

Taking her bow in hand again, she licked her lips then continued. "I don't know if, well, if you knew this _before_, but I took lessons for several years. My...my parents thought it would help me to have a hobby other than books. It didn't go well. The music teachers didn't like me much, we tried several, and, and they all said my work was technically correct but lacked...emotion. They weren't very...nice, especially the last one. He was dropped from the program were he was studying for his Masters when the police charged him for striking me during one horrible lesson. I...I did some accidental magic, broke a window out, and he instantly flew into, into a rage and knocked me down. That was when another teacher found us and dragged him away from me. My...my parents gave up on music lessons after that."

She smirked bitterly and glared at the ground. "Wish they could hear me now. It is a magical violin, you know," she said, nodding her head at the instrument still tucked into her shoulder. "Not enchanted, mind you, but made of magical materials. Like a wand. Very much like a wand in fact. Dragongut strings, treated and dried for 99 days, then stretched, wound, and wrapped in dwarven silver threads to give the correct pitch. The body of the violin and the bow are two different and rare varieties of wand quality vinewood. It is essentially my wand, made in a different shape, with Unicorn hair for the bow." She shook her head as if to clear it then glanced up at Harry and saw his confused expression. Looking away quickly, she blushed in embarrassment.

"But enough about me and my, my silly hobby. It worked and I feel much better. No problems with near accidents with my magic and I'm not suppressing my emotions to such and extreme right now, or at least I wasn't until you entered the room, and I just...I want you to know-" her face twisted in pain.

"I saw you that morning. Hedwig woke me at what felt like the middle of the night, tapping on the window. I instantly knew you'd be in the hospital – I remembered what you told me from before, when she told you about me. I went and, and I saw...your face was all _crushed_ and your jaw...you were so pale- I thought, I mean, I heard you had a _fractured skull_, but I didn't know what magical healing could do." She sadly hung her head.

"I-I ran away. I'm so sorry. I should have been braver, but that...that could have been a, a lifelong...and I didn't know there was natural magical protection from brain damage...and now you're all...and healthy and..." she drifted off, then closed her eyes and brought her bow slowly back to position. She started quietly noodling some notes, almost a tune Harry could recognize. They seemed to be slowly building to something he felt he should remember.

"I want to play something for you," she said, still not looking at him. "What I've been holding back since I saw you walk into the room. This is how I feel now, seeing you fine again," she said quietly, continuing to play softly. Hermione then looked him straight in the eyes, brought the bow down in a crashingly triumphant sound, and the sun seemed to rise from behind her.

Yes, he knew this one. This was something by the other "B". Hermione smiled brightly and tears fell from her eyes as she pulled from the small violin a short and simple solo arrangement of Beethoven's most well known work, the main theme of his 9th Symphony's famous fourth movement; it was a piece even musically stunted Harry instantly recognized, as most of the world did, as Beethoven's _Ode to Joy_.

Harry would have fallen to his knees if he hadn't been sitting on his bed. Instead he gripped the blankets in his hands as she drove relentlessly on, waves of relief and happiness crashing over him. It was a thousand cheering charms all hitting him at once, an endless, perfect rejoicing. Everything in that moment was right and good again. He felt Sal crawl into his lap and curl up and Hedwig seemed to be smiling at him. As Hermione finished the last singing notes, Harry finally found his tongue again.

"Th-that was amazing, Hermione," he said, still stunned and reeling from the music. "I've...I mean, I've never heard something like that before."

"I'd imagine not," she said brightly, grinning as she put the violin down on a nearby table. "I don't play very well, and that wasn't a very skillful arrangement, nor was it a very refined choice. I had to come up with it on the fly and everything. I wasn't planning on playing for you. I was just waiting here so I'd catch you when you got out. Sorry."

"Hermione, you," Harry started, then stopped and tried again. "That was incredible and beautiful and perfect. Thank you for sharing with me. Who do I have to kill to get an invitation to this 'private recital'?" he asked with a smile. "Please say it isn't another Dark Lord?" She rolled her eyes at him and moved Sal up off his lap, placing him gently on the ground under the table now holding her violin and wand, which she snatched up deftly. She returned to stand in front of him with her hands on her hips, her wand in hand tapping against her leg a couple of times.

"I think the Boy-Who-Lived might be able to pull some strings," she said, seemingly unable to stop grinning. "I hear he knows the soloist." She looked him over, her eyes searching for something. She seemed to reach a decision and nodded to herself.

"Take off your robe, Harry," she commanded evenly, happiness still in her eyes but her face serious.

"W-wha?" he said intelligently. She frowned slightly and started pulling it off him anyway, ignoring his stammering attempts at objections. After gently wrestling it away, she tugged at his hospital tunic and unsettlingly quickly had him bare-chested. The struggle had ended with his clothes wadded up on the bed and her straddling his lower chest while he lay with his hands still above his head, caught in the sleeves of his ignobly removed top.

"Hermione, this isn't-" he tried to explain.

"Hush," she demanded softly. One of her hands reached out and traced over the recently healed ribs, the skin still slightly red and tender there. Harry realized with embarrassment how skinny he was at this point, his ribs clearly sticking out. He also noted some of his eleven-year-old body's almost-faded scars from his long-ago in some odd temporal direction abuse at his aunt and uncle's house. So did Hermione, and she ran a finger gently over the most prominent pale lines.

Those healing potions sure had worked wonders last time. He likely wouldn't have any left at all by the time he graduated, except for curse and magical creature damage scars of course. None of those yet this time, but the year was young. So was Hermione, but her mind was that of a veteran police detective who was also a neurosurgeon.

She was breathing quickly but deeply, fueling her superhuman mind as it worked overtime. He was sure she was mentally cataloging every missed meal, every time he ate scraps instead of a full plate of food. Maybe she could even work out which scars were from his uncle's belt and which from the rose brambles his cousin had stomped him into while he was gardening. Which were from the half-bricks thrown at him and which the scalding hot water he'd accidentally knocked off the stove at age eight. No use trying to hide any of that now. Her face was blank, her eyes no longer dancing, her body language tense and dangerous. She suddenly looked into his eyes and leaned over to cup his cheek.

Staring deep into his eyes with her chocolate brown ones, looking for any hint of pain or discomfort, she slowly ran her hand over his jaw, so recently broken, feeling every muscle on the side of his face. He could almost hear her reciting the names of the bones and muscles under her breath. She traced the entire boney structure then moved to the side of his head and pressed with gentle fingers to feel under the skin. She lightly touched his temple, then ran her hand through his hair over the spot where Madam Pomfrey said his skull had been cracked. Her other hand ran over his eye on the other side, the socket of which had had a hairline fracture, also healed with a potion. She brushed dancing fingertips over his brow and down under his lower eyelid.

She cupped his face in both hands and continued to stare into his eyes for another moment, then her whole body shuttered and she looked away. All his repaired injuries carefully checked, his malnutrition noted, his hideous scars inventoried, she moved her hands away, probably in disgust, then slowly folded into herself, her arms wrapping around and her hands clutching her body in a spasmodic motion. She wasn't looking at him now, staring to one side with her brow furrowed, frowning. Hermione was still sitting straddling his chest, but seemed to have forgotten her initial gleeful, playful attitude.

"Harry, may I give you a hug?" she asked in a small, shaky voice. "I'm sorry about your clothes, I mean, I-I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I'm so sorry, I, I shouldn't..."

"Of course, Hermione," Harry said, his hands long ago freed from the shirt. He reached out to her with both arms. "You didn't know, and it...it's fine if it is you. Remember, it was long ago for me – it doesn't matter now."

She crumpled into him, arms tightening around between him and the bed, nearly crushing what she now knew were completely healed ribs. If she was less devastating in her grip than normal it was only because she was awkwardly wrapped around him and also crying onto his bare chest.

"I-I'm doing it again!" she sobbed wetly. "And it _should _matter and it isn't fair and w-why can't I stop crying around you!" Harry was trying to move her into a less embarrassingly compromising position while also gently rubbing her back. It wasn't easy, as Hermione was genetically part locking pliers and mostly consisted right now of areas he wasn't really comfortable touching and boney knees and elbows.

"T-this decides it then," she said, snorting the dripping snot back into her nose in a way that shouldn't be cute but was. Sitting up and freeing him to breathe, she stared deep into his eyes again. "Harry, I want your permission to put a health tracking charm on you. I can deduce that the Headmaster already has one on you, most likely based on your blood as you have no residual magical marks or tattoos, other than, well, obviously," she gestured to his scarred forehead, which she's carefully avoided touching, "or you would have noticed and he would be unlikely to mark himself that way as an alternative, even for a very important student like yourself."

Harry blinked dimly at her, only recently having received enough oxygen to run his brain again and now feeling quite emotionally drained. "What?" he asked cleverly.

"Do you object to me placing a spell on you, such that I can sense when and where you are hurt?" she said, rolling her eyes at the need to repeat and simplify.

"Oh," he said, shaking his head slightly. "Uh, that would be fine if you really want. If you can, I mean, I don't know any spells like that so I didn't teach you..."

"Really, Harry," Hermione said, reaching into her robe to pull out a scrap of parchment with what he assumed was the spell on it. She leaned on his chest with her sharp elbows. "I've read more of your books than you have. This is the ritual of _T__he __Asklepian of the Mother_, a spell to track the health of a child even at a distance. It was in one of the Gray housekeeping spell books you lent me, remember. The one with the nasty punishment jinxes and 'purity' testing charms?"

Harry shrugged weakly, and tried to subtly move out from under some of the bonier parts Hermione was currently jamming into various of his parts. She casually handled him like a tiny wrestling pro and somehow ended up gripping his chest between her bony knees again.

"Stop wiggling, Harry. You're only making this harder." She looked around briefly, then lunged over the edge of his bed. She was back, trapping him in place again before he could react, now in possession of a large sentient poisonous snake – in other words, her familiar Salazar. Harry glanced over at where Hedwig was sitting. She look back with pity in her eyes but no signs of imminent rescue, then she shook her head, turned around, and apparently washed her...wings of the whole thing.

"Now I assume most people would consider this at least a little Dark," she said, talking faster and faster as she reviewed the spell, "as it involves blood, but it is meant to protect a child from danger by alerting a mother to injuries, so really, how can that be bad? Anyway, it only uses the blood in tracking, not as part of any binding, empowering, or sacrificial component, so it is at worst what should be classified as little Gray. Harry! Stop struggling like that. This will take less time if you just relax. Now, no talking until I am done."

Picking her wand off the bed, she ritually cleansed the ritual area with several swipes over herself, Harry, and the bed. Sal sat on her shoulder and quietly watched. Hermione said several near-nonsense Latin words softly then drew her wand down the inside of her left arm. She winced slightly and carefully examined the red mark that was starting to form, then placed her wand to one side.

Taking a deep breath, she leaned over to bump her forehead to Harry's, staring directly into his eyes. Her beautiful brown eyes seemed huge and damp and bored into his own.

"_One I love and care for with all my heart,_" she said in a ritual chat, causing Harry's heart to skip a beat and his eyes to widen, "_Y__our tears fall, so shall mine._" She then blinked and a single tear fell from each of her eyes into his own. He blinked rapidly in response to the sudden wetness, a question in his eyes, but she was already raising herself up again for the next step.

"_Y__our__ soul cries out, it __reach__es__ my ears,_" she continued, her hand briefly stroking his lips. She then quickly dipped a finger into his mouth, pushed the digit over his tongue, and pulled it out again covered in his saliva, all in one motion. She dragged the finger down her raw looking left arm mark, leaving a damp trail.

"_Y__our blood spill__s__, mine echo__es__ with the hurt,_" she said, then looked apologetically at him and without any warning sliced his arm with a knife she'd hidden in her sleeve. He shouted something rude which she ignored. Putting the unsheathed knife to one side, she quickly dipped her wand in the tiny cut and smeared the blood from it over the same spot as before.

She waved her wand over his cut arm and muttered a quick and very minor healing spell, then started a much longer droning chant with a complicated series of wand motions, ending in a long, slow drag over her left arm and the red mark. Harry stayed still to avoid ruining the ritual and causing her to have to start all over again, but he was growing a little chilled from having no shirt and being in a freezing Scottish castle.

Sitting back and sighing, Hermione wiped damp sweaty hair out of her eyes with her right hand while looking closely at her left forearm and it's new magical mark. It was a series of thin, dark red lines forming a single twisting snake curving around a stylized wooden staff. She turned to look a question at Sal, who nodded back at her.

"Well, that's that Harry," she said with a small, exhausted smile. "Success. Let me check it, though." She brought the knife around for another go at him and he was too slow and stupid to see it coming. Once again, he was cut.

"Ow!" he said, almost at the same time Hermione did. She checked his injury and saw another small cut on his arm. What surprised Harry was that she now had a small, slightly-red mark on her own upper arm, just about where his was nicked. It wasn't a cut or bleeding, but it looked irritated.

"Oh good!" Hermione said, smiling even wider. "It's working even better than the book described. That was a tiny injury and I still felt it. I was worried we'd have to wait until you _inevitably _got hurt again to test it." She glared at him, but he couldn't argue; it didn't take a super genius (though he had one here anyway) to see Harry would be giving it a better test sooner rather than later.

"The symbol is interesting," she said, turning her arm so he could see better, still hugging his chest with her knees. "A large number of medical organizations around the world use a symbol with snakes, usually two of them, around a staff or rod called the Caduceus. It's really funny, my mum points out, as _that_ symbol, unlike mine, is the one of the Roman god of knaves and merchants. Basically, of ripping people off for profit. _This_ one, however, is representative of some of the oldest healing magic around, that of the staff and the snake. I looked it up in the library yesterday while I was researching the safety of the ritual and found a book on the topic. Really a very interesting read. Seems that Parselmouths were fundamental to early medicine, as their healing spells worked better against magical curses and even some mundane diseases."

"That's great, but...I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry said, slightly bemused, still more than slightly uncomfortable, "I'm still a little out of it. Uh. Could I get up now?"

"Oh!" she said, eyes wide, "Sorry!" She climbed off Harry and sat down on the bed next to him, idly rubbing the new ritual mark on her left arm. Harry sat up beside her and tried to get his shirt back on. A minute of awkward silence stretched out as Hermione seemed lost in her own thoughts and Harry seemed to be having trouble restarting his own.

"Am I a lesbian?" Hermione ask out of nowhere, still staring off into the distance. Harry fell off the bed, knocking a knee violently against the floor. "Ow!" he echoed with Hermione. Harry could swear he could hear several snakes laughing. She was rubbing her knee, the same one he'd injured.

"Harry, please stop getting hurt," she said, glaring at him. "I thought it was a perfectly straight forward question. No reason to act so surprised."

"B-but," he said, dragging himself off the floor. "No, Hermione this is not a conversation I'm having with you now."

"That's hardly fair," she said, almost pouting. "You told me that I had a wife when...when we talked about the future that one time. So I think it is a logical question. I wasn't transformed magically into a man or something strange like that, I assume?"

"You know I don't want to talk about other people's futures, Hermione. It isn't fair to them. Not when it isn't critical to keeping people alive."

"Yes, yes, I know. I think that is a little silly, but I'm fine with that. I'm not asking _who_ she is, just some more information about the _why_?"

Realizing he'd been trapped by her steel vise of logic, Harry relaxed into the familiar situation of being outsmarted by Hermione. "Okay, fine," he said, licking his lips and humming a few bars of a tune that was running through his head.

"Well, we certainly never, I mean," he ground to a halt again, then glanced at her and saw how she was simply sitting there politely waiting for his answer.

"As far as I am _aware_," he tried again, "though you never, I mean you hadn't...with a man..." This was harder than he thought. She was still looking attentively at him and nodded slightly when she saw he was looking at her again. "You dated some boys during school, but you were very serious about your studies and I don't think you...went very...far? There was young man, though, one who died when Hogwarts...I think you had gotten very close, romantically, and you were really broken up about that for years."

"I see," she said, still nodding. "That's very sad, but it sounds like me."

"And then after the Fall of Hogwarts, well," Harry sighed, then steeled himself to continue. "She was the sister of someone who died...who died fighting with you, later. Her brother died in your arms. She came after you, wanting revenge or resolution, or for you to kill her, or something. You were still hurting and she was too and you just sort of, sort of _fell_ together. I wasn't...you were in France most of the time, and I was in Norway when you got married. We weren't talking and I wasn't invited to the wedding. I'm not sure if there even was one.

"I was married myself at the time and things were...tough. You filed the muggle and magical paperwork in the Netherlands in 2004. Five years later, you were practicing the Darkest of magic together and using the results against Voldemort, the corrupt British Ministry of Magic, the rapidly corrupting French Ministry of Magic, and Dark wizards everywhere. That was the beginning of the end."

Hermione reached over and gently took his hand, gazing into his eyes when he looked up. Her eyes were wet but she seemed determined not to cry again. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I promise, it won't happen again." She looked confused for a second, then tried again, "I mean, I _might _marry a woman again, I'm not prejudiced against...though I've never...I just...I won't go Dark again, I swear, no matter what happens. I'm sorry I brought it up, I was just confused by some feelings I've had, is all."

"Confused why?" Harry asked, his mouth working faster than his brain, and not for the first time. Then it hit him. "Oh! Oh. Err." He looked down at his hand with great discomfort where she still held it in her own soft hand. She squeezed it again, then slowly put it back on the bed. Patting it gently, she smiled at him.

"Don't worry," she said, reassuringly. "I have no plans to attempt to have sex with the famous Harry Potter in the First Year boys' dorm room in the middle of the day at age eleven." He felt minor relief for less then a second, when he realized who he was talking to and how literally interpreting her words would work out, if taken proscriptively. His face must have shown that as she suddenly snorted quietly. He heard a whispered snake conversation behind him, then the laughing hisses again. Odd that he could so clearly tell the snake's laughter from the human sound.

"Harry," she said, drawing his eyes to hers again and leaning forward earnestly. "Seriously. We are both _eleven_. I was just wondering about little feelings I had. There are things my mother has already _clearly _explained to me, along with psychological consequences of being pushed into certain _behavior__s_ occurring too early in one's mental and physical development – though one major issue, accidental pregnancy, is virtually impossible for witches; 'a witch's body is her own' as Professor McGonagall said in what was truly a very informative if impromptu lecture when my parents asked about the topic, though she did seem a little rattled to be giving it in front of me, or maybe it was my follow-up questions – and in any case, it is quite clear to me that I'm simply not ready for such things right now; in fact, I've read on the subject, the non-magical approach that my mom gave in her version of The Talk that is, and read books on it at the university level, though I never did get a chance to audit- never mind. The point is, I just found conflicting data from your future knowledge of myself and simply wanted to resolve that with additional information." Harry was hurrying to try and parse what she'd said, but she wasn't slowing down for him.

Hermione held up a finger. "When, not _if _– I am realistic about such things as are my parents – _several _years from now, I decide to explore that part of myself, it will be calmly considered, planned ahead of time, carried out safely in a secure environment, and certainly not forced on any party involved." She smiled at him again, as if this were the most reassuring thing in the world. Harry started to wonder if this were the worst, most awkward conversation he'd ever been a part of. There was that one time, in the graveyard...with Voldemort. The snakes were still laughing at him in the background. Hermione frowned a little and scrunched up her face.

"Really, Harry," Hermione said, rolling her eyes at him. "It is simple. My 'female parts' are still under construction and I'm not prepared to experiment anytime soon. Also, you shouldn't worry I'll do something to take advantage of you because of any youthful ignorance of the topic on my part." She paused, then added as if it was also self-explanatory. "And I obviously have confidence that you will not take advantage of me, either. You are my friend and I trust you."

"Though ssstill a child, ssshe isss ssso obviousssly your mate, ssspeaker," Sal said, still 'giggling' – weird to hear that in Parseltongue. "But ssshe hasss a ssstrange way of sssaying it." Harry had enough issues with his English conversation, so he ignored Salazar's strange assumptions. Maybe it was a snake thing. Hermione twitched then turned to frown at Sal.

"If it matters," she said, turning to Harry again and stating it as if it were both obvious and appropriate to comment on, "your continuing to be my friend, which I see as an ongoing thing, not something that will cease anytime soon under any conceivable circumstances, combined with the initial feelings I have after less than a month of admittedly artificially _close _personal contact, _would_ logically and emotionally put you into what I assume will be a short list..." Harry was looking at her with thinly veiled horror, wondering if Voldemort could maybe, possibly attack the castle soon. Now, in fact. Hermione quirked an eyebrow and looked vaguely disappointed. Sighing, she tried again.

"I do not intend to tease you, Harry. I enjoy finally having a friend, someone I feel comfortable enough around to be physically close to, but I will not force that on you. If my hugs and other..." She paused to think. "Overtly a_ffectionate _attentions annoy or distress you, I would rather you told me now. I would _much_ rather have a friend than a discomfited human teddy bear. I do not mean my physical actions to be sexual in nature-"

She paused to think again, putting her finger against her chin and tapping. "Though, knowing something of developmental psychology and physiology, I could suggest that basically _any_ childhood physical interactions could be seen as either pseudo-sexual mate finding and bonding behavior or play violence or other early dominance games- Not the point. In my case, it is not a conscious desire to attract greater attention from you or to stimulate myself sexually." She smiled, having wrapped up her thoughts to her own satisfaction. Harry's head was beginning to hurt in that special, Hermione-induced way – so different from his lightning bolt-shaped curse wound's pains yet so very effective. Trying to avoid her seeing how incredibly _red_ his face must be at this point, he had turned to look at the door while processing her rapid-fire genius babble.

"So, Harry, what I mean is: I want to hug you and be close to you, therefore I need to know if you feel too uncomfortable with that behavior to allow it to continue."

"Hermione," he said slowly, mind racing. "I want to be your friend as long as you'll have me." He could hear her happy little noise of pleasure but didn't turn to look at her yet. "I...I'm not really comfortable talking about...well, basically any of the rest of that. But I will never, ever have any problems with your hugs. I hope you-" he trailed off slowly, having noticed a strange hissing noise that wasn't (for once during the conversation) being translated automatically in his head as Snake laughter. The edges of the dorm door were also now glowing slightly. A gasp from beside him suggested Hermione had seen it as well.

The door suddenly blew open violently in a loud explosion of light and magic and shadowy figures rushed into the room.


	9. Chapter 9

**Harry Potter and the Witch Queen**

by _TimeLoopedPowerGamer_

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter.

**Summary: ** Harry Potter never actually beat Voldemort, but rather fought him to a standstill while Europe burned around them. Finding himself an unwilling part of a dark ritual to send him back in time 20 years, he is surprised to see how Dumbledore reacts to proof of obvious child abuse (Harry's), how 11 year old super-genius and Witch Queen in training Hermione reacts to actually having a socially competent friend (Harry), and how much easier it is to shrug off the insults of munchkins when you're a grizzled war veteran.

But there is one huge problem: being sent back blew out his magic entirely. Just waving his wand knocked him out the first time he tried it. Can Hermione help him though his classes even with his magic almost unusable? Will Harry be able to find the secrets to actually killing the Dark Lord and saving his friends from a horrible future without blowing his cover, or even getting mistaken for the Dark Lord himself? Will Neville Longbottom get better grades than him?

**On Content: **Canon-Harry lives in a dark world. This one is darker, with evil turned up to 11 and actual adult situations: everyone is more magical and dangerous, witches and wizards are preternaturally attractive and seductive, people are meaner, magical creatures are horrifying and have back stories, Harry has worse mental issues, teenagers are hornier, villains actually torture and kill people before the last book, etc. Rated M for Maliciousness.

**Author's Note**: Finally got this one up. Next should be out in a couple of weeks as it is almost done. Not sure what my schedule will be, though. Don't worry, this fic isn't dead. I'll finish off Voldemort even if it takes years. And I have to camp out in a magical tent. With a hot girl. I care that much.

**Notes on the Author:** I've got a forum set up on this site to talk to people about the story. Drop by to ask me questions or talk about stuff to other people reading my stories. I'll also be posting stuff about my progress to the next chapter and a whiny excuse if I miss a deadline. See my Profile page for details and a link.

Of course, I still welcome normal reviews, but any questions asked in the forum can receive a public answer that everyone can see. Do both! Or neither! I'll try to answer all questions in a timely manner.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

Minerva waited with the Headmaster in his incredibly noisy office. Somehow, the old prankster had managed to arrange all of the loudest and most annoying tweeting and clicking instruments to play a clearly recognizable version of, if she remembered correctly, Pachelbel's Canon in D major.

It also appeared to be stuck in some kind of fractal repeat, with blooping and humming magical items entering and exiting the tune at seemingly random but musically acceptable intervals. The old idiot was grinning at her through his beard, his hands folded on his desk. He was obviously waiting for her to ask how or why he'd done it. After the last two days, she was not in the mood for his games.

"The doctor floo'd earlier to say she would be a few minutes late to the meeting," Albus said, obviously trying to pull her into making some comment that would allow him to play his little scene out.

"Ah, so," she muttered grumpily at him. Her eyebrow arched. His lips twitched.

"And how is...Ms. Granger, was it?" he asked, obviously in some round-about plan to get her to ask why his office sounded like a concert in an insane asylum. This was a bit of a sore point for her, but she decided to play along.

"She is as well as can be expected, given that her best friend in all the world is currently lying in the hospital wing recovering from severe head trauma," she snapped, immediately regretting her words the moment they left her mouth. Albus flinched as if struck. Ms. Granger was only the latest in a long line of strange things in the last two days but possibly the most...mysterious.

First, one of her most...delicate young Lions had been savagely attacked in his own dorms by some unknown entity, a thing that should have been impossible. Oh yes, the young bucks often clashed, especially in Gryffindor. Boys were like that. Honestly, the Gryffindor girls were like that as well, but it usually didn't result in bloody knuckles and black eyes. Usually. But according to the headmaster, none of the students had been out of bed except for Harry and he'd been attacked while the small in-suite bathroom door had been locked from the inside. Thankfully, the Headmaster had some complicated health monitoring Charms on the boy and had arrived seconds after the assailant had apparently disappeared into the stones without a trace. The whole thing was obviously deeply affecting Albus. She hurried to add something, anything, cursing her temper.

"She is...much better now that some time as passed, Albus, as are the rest of the students under my care. This has been...trying for us all," Minerva added curtly with a growing frown.

Despite the Headmaster's conclusion that it couldn't have been a child, she'd checked the wands of all the students in Gryffindor anyway and talked to the entrance portrait. The pump, painted woman had had nothing to report and nothing unusual was found on the students' wands, except for a few older girls with embarrassing contraceptive spells recently cast – but that wasn't so unusual really. She'd simply given them stern looks and they'd wilted and fled, hopefully to be more cautious and circumspect in the future. There had certainly been nothing that would have aided in the assault or the subsequent disappearance of the attacker.

And then, to add to everything else, one of her best young students who was also the poor boy's best (and, whispered her heart soul-wrenchingly, most likely first and only) friend, had apparently gone at least part-way around the bend. Ms. Granger had found out though unknown means about the attack mere minutes after it had happened and had broken into the hospital wing, literally. She'd somehow slipped through a door that should have been magically and physically locked without apparently casting any spells, then knocked Madam Pomfrey and herself aside when they'd tried to stop her – a quite frankly frighteningly strong bit of accidental magic. The young girl spent only a few short moments crying over Harry and had then fled the hospital wing, guilt and fear torturing her tiny face into a painful grimace. Then there had been the violin incident.

"And how are her, ah, musical studies progressing?" Albus asked, his eyes regaining some of their previous twinkle.

"Quite well, thank you," she replied shortly. The thing with the violin had been another worrying and strange event; a lot more than she had really wanted to deal at this time with but with a happy ending for once.

Ms. Granger had disappeared for hours after the emotional display in the hospital wing. When McGonagall had finally seen the poor child again after breakfast that horrible morning, she'd been clutching a rare, expensive, and seemingly custom-fit violin wrapped in a dusty sheet, asking oddly advanced questions about curse breaking and whether or not she could borrow the instrument.

After consulting with Filius and clearing the wooden work of art for safe use, she and her fellow professor had been treated to the most literally-enchanting musical recital in her memory. Even that famous Italian magical string quartet she'd heard in '76 paled in comparison. They'd been more skilled, sure, but the tiny girl's single instrument had stolen the professors' hearts and brought a tear to their eyes. It was as if the odd little found violin had been made for her by a master craftsman, tuned to her very soul.

Obviously she had had to work out a way to let Ms. Granger keep it. Going through the standard channels for a newly discovered artifact and letting the Board of Governors know about it was the best way to have the Ministry confiscate the magical item in question. Those thieves and scoundrels would then sell it at auction to the highest bidder, to line their own pockets with the profits, so she had quickly searched her long memory for a way out of this bind.

She had then remembered that the existing school guidelines said a student might be assigned an instrument if studying music at Hogwarts. The rules didn't say what the actual parameters of that arrangement were, and there hadn't actually _been _a music program at Hogwarts for decades, but it was clear that the item was unowned and inside Hogwarts, so the Deputy Headmistress' con was water-tight. By accepting the extra work of an independent course of study in the field of music at Hogwarts, and by agreeing to a few recitals (which no one had done at the school in Minerva didn't know how long), whether she knew it or not Ms. Granger had acquired a magical artifact of which most Noble, Ancient, and rich wizarding families would be jealous. Minerva thought it couldn't have happened to a nicer little girl. At least it had seemed to calm her down and distract her from her best friend being unconscious in a hospital bed.

Saturday's far-too-early in the morning threats to lock everyone in their dorms had driven the students, who'd been awakened by Ms. Granger's panicked running down the halls, back to bed (if, Minerva suspected, not back to sleep). After finding her musical prize that morning, the dear girl had continued to haunt the hospital wing off and on all Saturday, but had spent the rest of the time practicing in an abandoned classroom near the Gryffindor dorms. Not having the time to supervise her directly, Minerva had been content to let the girl be on her own to work through things. The few times she'd looked in on her, the look of concentration on her face and the haunting music from the violin had shook her once again. Ms. Granger was apparently full of hidden talents but was also full of stormy emotions, emotions which leaked out into the magic of her music.

"She visited the hospital wing again today and learned Mr. Potter will likely be released this morning from Poppy's tender care," she continued, frowning at Albus. "She seemed quite excited when she came to tell me about it and was smiling brightly. It was good to see – she had been most unhappy all yesterday."

"Ah, good, good," Albus said, a frown also briefly clouding his face as he was once again reminded of Harry's injuries. Minerva cursed under her breath and wished the mind healer would arrive to break this gloomy mood. She was always such a strong, peaceful woman, able to bring solace to even the most emotionally trying situation. A gift, that was what the woman had. Such a difference from her wild daughter who'd graduated this last spring. But then that poor lass had had her own issues, ones that might have broken the spirit of someone with less supportive parents. Maybe she could get the doctor to have a brief talk with Ms. Granger. The brilliant young girl had arrived at Hogwarts attached to Mr. Potter's arm and had barely been out of his presence in the last two weeks. Not having Harry around seemed to have broken something inside her. The girl had had a trembling, lost-little-kitten look at breakfast that morning and seemed unaware of her surroundings. Hopefully seeing Harry later today would help.

Just then, the floo buzzed. With a wave of his hand, Albus accepted the connection and cleared request through the security protocols. A light-brown-haired young woman stepped through the glowing green fire. Briefly and smoothly brandishing a wand, she brushed herself off with a quick wave of a spell at the same time as her feet settled on the stone floor of the Headmaster's office.

Walking forward to the Headmaster's desk, she made a small curtsy, intentionally mimicking, if Minerva guessed correctly, the way a well-bred muggle schoolchild at a prestigious public school would formally greet a normal schoolmaster who wasn't the most famous and powerful wizard in the world. Most magical children and some adults, even the Pure-bloods, simply stared open-mouthed or shook in place on meeting him. Albus was a very intimidating man, even at the best of times, which was why he usually wore strange, funny-looking clothing to amuse himself and the children and kept a kind twinkle in his eyes to put others at ease. Andy was obviously playing her own game from the other side of the coin.

"Andromeda, it is so good to see you again," Albus said, almost purring with delight, his eyes twinkling like stars.

"Professor Dumbledore, I feel the same," she replied. The skilled mind healer smiled at him brightly. She then noticed the odd musical background clatter and paused, but quickly took it in stride and nodded to Albus. She wasn't about to get sidetracked by asking about the noise either, Minerva noted with satisfaction.

Turning her radiant smile on Minerva, the woman's pale face crinkled with good humor right around her clear brown eyes – the temporary laugh lines the only ones on her otherwise smooth face. "Professor McGonagall, a pleasure to see you." Andy quirked an eyebrow at the older witch. "You look...well?"

Huffing in exasperation and rolling her eyes, Minerva pulled out her wand and silently waved it in front of her face, canceling the Aging Glamour that most professionals used, especially when dealing with the muggle-raised. Minerva now appeared as she naturally did – a forty-something professional woman with her long, dark red hair in a bun and an unfortunate and apparently permanent frown on her face – instead of a woman in her advanced 70s (her actual age) with dusty-gray hair and, of course, the same frown. The proud older witch smirked at the relatively-young doctor, who was herself not actually in her 20s, as she appeared. She had a daughter almost that old. The Headmaster, who didn't use one but he looked a lot younger without his beard, looked on with amusement. He was more than century old and had lived a hard, dangerous life, and so deserved the few wrinkles he had.

"I swear Andy, I do not understand your dislike of Glamour Charms," she said grumpily at the still grinning, not-so-young woman.

"It is a way of lying to ourselves and others, Minnie, no matter how well meaning," Andy responded, her usual argument. "In my line of work, I can not afford those kinds of lies. The more intelligent of my patients understand this and it is at least subconsciously helpful in gaining their trust. It also helps to lower emotional barriers for me to appear younger than my years. I seem more...trusting, less judgmental when appearing this young." She stepped gracefully over to the free chair placed in front of the large desk, continuing her little speech.

"There are things programmed into people through genetics and upbringing that cause them to respond better to someone young and a little pretty." Andy smiled apologetically at her bit of self-praise, but it wasn't as if anyone who'd ever meet the stunning, classically beautiful woman could possibly disagree. "You will notice that I still use hygiene and beauty Charms freely, so it isn't as if I'm some wild and unkempt creature, unable to function in polite society.

Andromeda Tonks had the usual fine-boned Black family face, but softened by a smile, wavy brown hair, and dancing dark brown eyes. Her body was also, like most in the wizarding world who half-tried, simply amazing, even without..._enhancing _Charms and Glamours (which she also refused to use, of course). But it was the way she carried herself and her kind, open demeanor that made her special, cementing even the briefest encounter with her in one's mind. So much unlike her insane sister, now residing in Azkaban, or the cold, distant sister who was now Mrs. Malfoy, but just as striking in her own way.

"Very interesting," Albus managed to say entirely truthfully, somehow. Minerva was thinking "tedious and self-absorbed," but she actually liked the woman and was able to keep her mouth firmly shut. "We should get down to the reason for this meeting: Mr. Potter." Instantly everyone in the room tensed. Andy wasn't smiling any longer.

"I read the letter you sent yesterday, requesting this meeting and an emergency session with Mr. Potter," Andy said, shifting in her chair uncomfortably. "I had hoped to wait until the end of the month before sharing any of my thoughts on my newest patient. This whole process has been very unusual, but I have, in principle, no issues discussing this now. I will make some statements that have flimsy support and will ask that you not hold me to them. Also, I am required to remind you of your oaths as educators and the Ministry privacy laws relating to the personal medical information of one of your students." Albus nodded and Minerva clenched her hands tightly in her lap, her younger-looking face still pruned up in a disapproving scowl. This wasn't going to be pleasant, she knew, bracing herself for the worst.

Andy sighed and pulled a leather folder from her robes, obviously stored in a spacial charm of some kind. Flipping it open, she scanned a few pages, then slapped it shut again and held it in her lap under clinched hands.

"Mr. Potter," she started, her voice now smooth, her face unsmiling, and her poise professional, "based on my sessions with him up to this point, appears to be in surprisingly good shape – especially considering his background." Minerva let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Albus blinked.

Glancing briefly at a page in the folder, she continued. "He is a pleasant and carefully skilled conversationalist, once he gets over his initial caution and shyness. That isn't unusual for a child his age, but the extreme nature of his eloquence suggests a mature and extremely bright young mind. This is quite odd when compared to his near-crippling levels of shyness and caution in relating to adults. You may have noticed he barely meets your eye, even after getting reasonably comfortable with you in a safe environment. His body language is open and unguarded at most times, but he almost always has his gaze somewhere else. Observing him at meals at the castle, he does not appear to have this issue with other children. The reasons for this should be obvious, given his history." Andy worked her clenched jaw, barely avoiding grinding her teeth, then the professional face dropped down again.

"Another odd thing to note: his emotional control is actually a little frightening. He seems capable of visibly turning his emotions on and off like a switch. I agree with Albus' conclusion that he is a natural Occlumens, most likely out of necessity, but I have obviously not tested this, nor should either of you. I hope the reasons for this are also obvious – if the boy does have any skill in that field, he would easily be able to detect such intrusions. It would be a huge mistake and a great breach of his trust, even if it is _technically_ legal for you to do so with students under your care given sufficient cause." Minerva's eyebrows shot up – she wasn't aware they had discussed him having mental defenses at such a young age. The boy had been quiet and controlled in class, that was true, but she hadn't thought it anything other than him being shy.

"He seems to have problems with both adults and crowds," the doctor continued, "which is unsurprising as he has had...bad experiences with the first and almost none with the latter. Groups of children don't seem to be an issue for him, or at least not as much of one. Based on things he's said, it seems he had a panic attack on first reaching the train station for the Hogwarts Express. I strongly suggest having an adult he trusts with him any time he is in a public place – for both his personal security and his peace of mind.

"Most likely because of his extreme shyness and the interference of his violent cousin, he has apparently only made one friend...in his entire life." No one could look anyone else in the eyes, all staring at their laps. During the awkward silence, Albus frowned briefly and reached into his pocket, checking an old pocket watch. After a moment, he blinked and shook his head, returning his attention to the rest of the room with a grim look.

"There are several boys in his House that he mentioned being friendly with," Andy started again after a quiet cough, "but he seems to have a hard time relating to them and other children, though he seems very focused on how the post-war environment has affected their home lives. As you know, most students in the past few years have lost at least some of their close relatives to violence. This is a cause of some worry to him, one of the few things he directly told me was bothering him. Despite this concern, he hasn't made any real attempts to befriend the boys in his year. He doesn't come out and say such, but he might consider them immature and maybe a little silly or boring. Mr. Potter is very mature for his age, so that might be a fair evaluation given his perspective. Normally, this could result in him being a complete outcast in his age group. Here, Mr. Potter seems to have had a very lucky break.

"He met a young girl in his year on the train to Hogwarts, muggle-raised like himself. A Ms. Hermione Granger." Both Minerva and Albus nodded quietly at that.

"They struck up a friendship, sharing books and talking about advanced class topics. Both had read their entire selection of textbooks before the first day of class." Minerva smirked at that, having suspected as much from her two brightest First Years.

"Mr. Potter suggests she has mastered all First Year spells already, is now reading Fourth Year class books, and is magically very powerful. Given what I have been told independently of Mr. Potter's own not-insignificant knowledge and scholarship, this is quite a complement."

"All in all, Harry describes her as a veritable magical Einstein," Andy noted. Minerva vaguely got the reference to some smart, famous muggle, but Albus raised both eyebrows and leaned forward with great interest.

"I cannot freely discuss details of student medical history," Albus said carefully, "but it would not surprise me if Ms. Granger eventually had a mastery and power over the magical realm that rivaled or even surpassed my own. She has that...potential." Minerva blinked in shock, not having realized exactly what she had been dealing with. Good gods, Ms. Granger might be another Merlin in training!

"I, uh," Minerva spoke up hesitantly, realizing that she'd said something only after she'd begun speaking. Andy and Albus both turned to look at her with interest.

"I have never seen Ms. Granger cast a weakened or failed spell in class. She masters the transfigurations as quickly as Mr. Potter and then immediately asks for advanced versions of the exercises. I have had to...restrain her from what seems to me like overwork in class. Her magic runs as deep right now as many Seventh Years and adult witches I've known. All she lacks to be one of the most impressive students I've ever had the pleasure to teach is the magical stability and practiced skills that a more mature witch would have. I have no reason to believe that she will stop at merely competent levels of mastery in any endeavor she pursues." Andy's eyebrows rose in surprise, but she simply nodded and made a few notes in the back of her folder, the quill appearing from her sleeve as if by magic – which it most likely was, of course.

"This brings me to my last point," Andy said with a deep sigh. "Possibly because of what he's been through, Mr. Potter is very anxious about his magical weakness. He is very attached to his abilities as a wizard and seems to be concerned that he will be permanently unable to use it like others his age. Rather than a feeling of shame from being different, this seems to be linked to his paranoia and security obsessions.

"You might have noticed that he scans a room as if for threats every time he cautiously enters. He also visually evaluates adults in a way that reminds me nothing so much as a veteran Auror looking for hidden weapons or threats. I clearly remember that look from the last war. Old 'Mad-Eye' springs to mind. His retirement, I'll remind you, was long overdue as he was virtually unable to work with his coworkers because of his worries about hidden enemies.

"Harry carries his wand in a makeshift arm sleeve, with a strap keeping it from being dropped or lost. It more than casually resembles, at least in function, the professional device used by Hit Wizards and Aurors, but he appears to have designed it all on his own from spare parts. He is intelligent, new to the magical world, and has a history that makes him understandably worried about his own safety." Andy once again shifted on her chair, her hands gripping her knees, knuckles turning white from the pressure.

"I do not have an answer for how to resolve the serious issue of his security obsessions, but it is important that events like those this Saturday morning _do not occur ever again_." Andy was glaring at Albus now, drilling a hole in him with her eyes.

"A tiny amount of stability and security, a few adults he can depend on, and the chance to learn where he fits into this new world we've thrown him into, and Mr. Potter has a very good chance of leading a healthy, normal life. I won't pretend that he'll be anything like a normally well-adjusted boy anytime soon, but with some assistance he'll be able to deal with the issues that come up.

"He'll have nightmares and panic attacks. He'll have issues with trust and security. Despite his emotional control, he will have issues dealing with anger and aggression. Many of these problems will likely be for life." The room was grimly silent for a few moments, then Andy leaned forward in her seat and stoically raised a new topic.

"So, I am interested in this Hermione Granger," she said, still unsmiling but a little less tense. "Harry talks more about her than the other acquaintances of his put together. Looking into her public records, I have learned she is a muggle-born." Both the professors nodded. Andy stopped for a second, then proceeded with renewed courage.

"There were some...hints, from things Harry said, that she, well," Andy stumbled, searching for the correct words. "Do the two of you know about the psychological effects of magical children on mundane children? Specifically what is commonly known as 'manaphobia' – a strange American term based on research in south-east Asia following the muggle 'World War Two'?" Minerva grimly pressed a hand to her forehead and nodded. Albus quietly affirmed that he did as well.

"Well, it appears Ms. Granger displayed strong and early accidental magic, but even before then had a magical aura detectable by mundanes that adversely affected her relationships with non-magical children. Harry didn't go into details, but that the two of them were even aware of what is usually a minor effect is...worrying. For Harry, this effect might have been pivotal in his relative's mistreatment of him." At their looks, she interrupted their unvoiced question by raising a hand.

"Do not misunderstand – this magic-induced fear does not excuse their behavior. As adults, they should have been largely unaffected. Even if they were extremely susceptible to it, violent acts are not the usual response. Cold distrust and dislike are the most that could have been excused. They reacted violently and allowed their child to act on his violent impulses because of a great flaw in their character: they believed Harry was less than human, someone that could be freely abused without moral consideration. They might even have thought it was their job to...fix the flaw of his accidental magical expressions. And for that, they should be held accountable. I do not agree with your...hesitation on this issue." Albus' eyes were twinkle-less now.

"Let us discuss that at another time," Albus rumbled softly, avoiding her gaze. "There are deeper issues at play. Trust me when I say that they will be brought to justice as soon as doing so does not risk Harry's safety further. You know the methods I've employed to defend Harry from his relatives – I welcome any additional input on that issue." Andy stared at him for several moments, then shook her head.

"As for Hermione," she continued, clearly unhappy with Albus, "for it to be this strong so soon could mean even her biological parents might be affected over time, which would be simply awful for her. Usually, parents and close relatives are almost immune to the irrational fear and hatred of the induced phobia disorder, even when they are sensitive to the effect. But given how strong she is now, by Fifth Year there could be significant emotional effects in her parents after only a few days of constant exposure."

Loudly clearing his throat, Albus spoke up again. "What do you suggest we do, Andy? The situation by itself is bad, but having Harry's only friend in the world experience anything like his own horrible home situation would be devastating to both of them. Do we...do we need to enact a solution similar to Harry's relative's magical constraints for the Grangers? Or must we consider the unpleasant measure of fostering her with a magical family?"

Andy immediately shook her head. "No, there should be some ways to work around this, given how early we caught it. But I would like to speak to Ms. Granger sometime soon, and her parents as well – perhaps at the Christmas break. That Harry is aware of the issue and worried about Ms. Granger means I will suggest to them that he be informed of the work we are doing on this. If the Grangers agree to share the information, that is. I hope they do. Harry could use some adult support from someone he can trust, and seeing another child learning to deal with the magical world could help Ms. Granger's parents in dealing with the changes in their daughter's life."

* * *

Everything had seemed to happen all at once. There had been a loud "bang," the door flew open, and he was pushed violently into the bed. Now Hermione was sitting on top of him, putting herself between him and the doorway, her back to him and her wand in hand pointing straight at the door.

All of the snakes except for Sal had gone into hiding in an instant, but Sal had wrapped himself around her wand arm and was also facing the door with fangs bared. The two red-headed blurs that had jumped through the smoking doorway just barely dodged a loud barrage of multicolor spells that nearly took their heads off.

"Woah, crikey!" one of the Twins yelled.

"Cease fire!" shouted the other.

"Friendlies!

"Merlin's crystal balls!" the second exclaimed, looking around wildly.

"What the bloody hell was that?" the first finished, looking frantically around as well.

The end of Hermione's wand was pointed generally away-ish from the Twins now and was actually _smoking_ from the sudden release of magic, as was the scorched wall in the hallway. Her wand hand looked a little unsteady and she was slumped sort of sideways – she must have put too much power into that barrage, especially after the ritual and privacy charms. The spell chain she'd used had been extremely rapid fire, but it was apparently even more impressive than at first glace. Fully half of her spells must have been non-visible hexes that had simply dispersed their power into the wall, explaining the dozen burn marks that hadn't had visible trails or effects.

"Sorry about that," Hermione said apologetically, still sitting sort of crouched on top of Harry. The two boys simultaneously said, "What?!" and held a hand to their ears dramatically.

Hermione blushed and canceled the Muffliato privacy spell. "I'm so sorry, boys!" she said again. "Harry was attacked just a day ago and they haven't found _who_ did it yet and I was a little _wound up _and I had this _great_ dueling combination I read about..."

"Quite all right, young lady" said (Harry decided arbitrarily) _Fred_.

"You protection of our national hero was most..." George said, losing the thread and trailing off.

"Robust!" suggested Fred.

"Quite!" George agreed.

"But what is this?" Fred asked, peering closer at Harry's bed.

"Looks to me like our little Hit Witch in training has, shall we say-"

"A _personal_ interest in her bodyguarding-"

"Specifically, an interest in young _Harry's_ body?" crowed George, his eyebrows wiggling up and down aggressively. Harry realized that phrases like "Boy-Who-Lived caught in compromising position" and "Harry Potter expelled" would immediately suggest themselves as elements of bylines in any _Daily Prophet _story about the situation he currently found himself in.

He gently pushed Hermione to one side, causing the sputtering girl to squeak cutely as she landed on her side. This brought raucous laughter from the Twins as she sat up again. But what they didn't see was that she was still clutching her wand and had landed with her arm free and still pointed in the general direction of the Twins.

"What was all that?" Harry asked the Twins in general (as one would answer depending on some silent arrangement anyway) while pointing at the door. "I thought Hermione had locked it. Magically. And not just a Colloportus, but some weird, obscure stuff. Should have been proof against an Alohomora."

"Quite right you are young Harry-" George started.

"You amazing cad you!" interjected Fred.

"Yes," George agreed immediately, "even brave men would have quailed at the thought of arranging such a rendezvous, especially with someone as powerful and – might I say it?"

"Might as well," said Fred frankly.

"_Powerfully scary_ as this young witch, but you ventured forth bravely-"

"I propose, had we not interrupted, he might even have ventured as far as 'fifth'-" interrupted Fred with a leer.

"Thus demonstrating his House spirit with this eager young (and really, _far_ too young) witch," followed up George. "But despite his incredibly, questionably young age-

"And possibly questionable moral fiber-"

"He bravely braved new things in true Gryffindor fashion-"

"Disregarding common sense-"

"And maybe almost making a really bad hash of things."

"Therefore, I suggest we nominate Harry as our Firstie Special Project of the year," suggested Fred.

"Seconded!" George said, suddenly standing straighter, with an officious look on his face.

"Put it to a vote!" Fred barked. Both Twins raised their hand and they each, separately and really too loudly to be called under their breath, counted the two hands. Twice.

"Resolution passed! From this day forward, Fred and George Weasley's Firstie Special Project is to be Harry Potter. At least for a year, that is, or until we get bored with it all," Fred declared. They lowered their hands. George walked up to the two of them where they sat on the bed side-by-side and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. Harry saw his eyes scan quickly over the violin and bow sitting on the table nearby, Harry's hospital shirt and missing outer robes, and Hermione's slightly red eyes and- SHIT, her snake familiar still wound around her arm, all in one quick sweep. Glancing back at Fred, Harry could just barely see George's expression change and his serious, questioning look, eyebrows raised. But at a small nod from Fred, he was back to looking at them with a wide, open grin on his face.

"Harry, Hermione," George said with a smile, "you are young. Oh, so young and innocent."

"Not all that innocent, it seems," Fred smarmed in the background, a smirk on his face.

"Locked alone, together, in a room-"

"Clothes thrown everywhere-"

"About to commit lascivious behavior I do not even want to guess at-"

"He'd prefer you both be seven years older or so and being magically recorded, he means," Fred explained.

"I do wonder what Professor McGonagall would say, if she knew of this-" George said, once again getting off track.

"She'd have kittens, I'd say," added Fred. Hermione tensed next to him, her fingers curling tighter around her wand.

"Which is why we will ensure she does not find out," George concluded. "No reason to worry her about something that didn't almost maybe happen." Harry knew if he didn't derail this, it could last literally hours.

"Guys, what happened to the door?" he said, trying to shrug off George's hand. "Why did you break in? _How _did you break in?"

"Young Harry, that was the result of our limitless curiosity-" Fred replied.

"And our latest product testing," George finished, firmly slapping Harry on the shoulder then plopping himself down on the floor in front of them. He look at the open door and glanced at Fred again. The other boy rolled his eyes but took out his wand, waved it a few times and said something firmly under his breath, removing the scorch marks from the hall outside. He then closed the door, reapplied the spells Hermione had put on it, and added a couple more Harry didn't recognize.

"Special disenchanting tape around the door frame," George explained. "Leaves no magical signature or physical residue, requires only a wand tap activation, good against most non-rune, non-warding locking spells."

"Would be a lot more useful if one of the standard ingredients wasn't, uh, slightly _illegal_." Fred added. "We're working on a substitution, but it isn't quite ready for general use yet. It shouldn't glow like that or, err-"

"Explode," George added. "_Anyway_, we were walking through the dorms, wondering why the mind-bendingly haunting music had stopped."

"To be honest, we were coming to stop it. With tactical pudding bombs. Don't ask," Fred interjected.

"When what did we see?" George continued. "The Firstie's bedroom door, locked and covered in privacy spells. Well that simply wouldn't do."

"When attempting something actually secret, never leave an obviously locked door," Fred said. "They call out to be...unlocked."

"So we did," concluded George. They looked at each other and simultaneously shrugged. Fred leaned against the wall and seemed to silently signal to George again.

"So, do tell: what in the name of Morgan's Multiple Mammaries were you two doing behind a locked, privacy shielded door in the First Year boys' dorm?" George asked, grinning and leaning in. Hermione was still holding her wand next to her leg – it twitched. Harry hurried to put a hand on her arm.

"We were about to talk about the assault on me Saturday morning," he rushed to say. Hermione looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

"You can trust them," Harry told her. "It wasn't these jokers." Both Twins looked inquisitively at the bushy-haired girl. She rolled her eyes but eased the white-knuckle grip on her wand and rolled her tense shoulders.

"Fine," she said, Perfect Little Professor back in full swing. "We were going to talk about how Harry was attacked. I have some ideas. This is almost laid out like a classic 'locked room' from a mystery book. In those, though, you usually can't question the victim."

"Why's that?" Fred asked.

"Because they are usually murder mysteries and the victim is usually dead," Hermione said dully, glaring at him. Fred gulped.

"We'll help, of course," George said quickly, actually sounding serious for once. "Can't have people conking Firsties on the noggins in the bathrooms. Sets a bad precedent and all." Well, moderately serious. Hermione shook her head disappointedly at George and pursed her lips, then apparently decided to ignore him.

"Tell us the details, Harry," she said, holding his hand gently with her non-wand hand, weaving her fingers into his.

He explained everything he could remember, which wasn't much. Being in a potion-induced coma seemed to have taken the sharp edge off of some of the specifics. He decided to leave out the magical sensory tripping – explaining that would be hard. Hermione twitched at the attacker's odd warning, but remained silent through his description of the Headmaster showing up and sending him to the hospital wing. The Twins looked worried and swapped several telling looks.

"I don't get it," Hermione commented after he was finished. "How did they get away in the seconds before Dumbledore showed up without opening the door?"

"And why would they warn you away from Hermione? That's what that meant, right?" George asked.

"Safe to say, assuming you aren't hanging out with any other cute young witches," Fred added. Hermione blushed, but still frowned at him.

"I don't know what the warning means," Harry said. "I assume it is some Blood Supremest thing. Maybe a crazy Death Eater that escape trial after the last war. Didn't really think it mattered, if they wanted to kill me."

"It doesn't," Hermione said, looking uncomfortable. "Looking for motivation right now is pointless. It could also be a red herring to give people false leads. But that would only make sense if they weren't planning on killing you, or somehow knew you might not die...no, 'who' and 'why' can wait a little. We need to focus on the 'how' right now. For example, the escape of our attacker."

"What about Apparition? Would mean an adult or advanced student. Sixth or Seventh year for sure." George suggested, not sounding convinced. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You can't Apparate inside Hogwarts grounds. No Portkeys, either. Really, doesn't anyone read _Hogwarts, A History_?" she said with a disgusted sigh. "They didn't simply print it as something to prop up the wobbly leg of your desk with, you know."

"We understand that!" Fred said, fake-affront clear in his voice. "It is _far_ too thick. Your desk would have to be missing half a leg, at least!"

"Wait," Hermione said, staring at a blank wall over George's head. "Your voices hurt my head, be quiet for a minute."

All of the boys froze in place at her command. Fred looked at George. George and Fred looked at Harry. Harry looked at the two of them and shrugged.

"If this is an _attempted _murder mystery, I'll treat it as one," she finally said, a slightly worrying look in her eyes.

"While the adults follow sensible things things like evidence and leads, things we do not have access to as we are merely _little kids,_" she scoffed, "I'll just have to play the other side of this little game: wildly unfounded deduction while hoping for a miracle clue. I already have some terribly unlikely ideas." The boys still looked confused.

"I dare you to make less sense," George challenged her. She rolled her eyes at them yet again.

"Let's all go look at the scene of the crime," Hermione chirped sardonically, jumping off the bed and stomping over to the door. Finiting the locking and privacy charms with a couple of waves of her wand, she flounced out of the room, not checking to see if anyone was following her. Shrugging at the Twins, Harry stood up and followed her. Hedwig flapped over to land on his shoulder just before he got to the doorway.

The two redheads exchanged a glance before following the oddest two Firsties they'd ever seen. No one noticed the four black snakes that slithered out of hiding to wind protectively around the violin Hermione had left on the small table, slowly easing it down to the floor with their coils and into it's hard protective case, nudging the lid closed with their heads before disappearing back under the beds.

* * *

Hermione stalked from one end of the small bathroom to the other. The twins stood in the hallway and poked their heads in, bemused looks on their virtually identical faces, while Harry bravely stood just inside the doorway. Flicking her wand restlessly and chanting under her breath, she repeatedly cast Dark detection spells (Second Year, but well within her abilities). She then tried several spells he recognized from the old Auror's manual. He hadn't known she'd read that one yet. Hedwig was now resting on his shoulder, looking alert and interested. The Twins kept glancing at his owl but didn't say anything. Hedwig simply watched Hermione impassively.

Now working through what Harry recognized as the standard Auror investigation set, she checked for magical residue, Portkey signatures, Apportion traces, and then she cast another, more powerful Dark spell detector. For those, she planted her feet firmly and waved her wand in large, exaggerated gestures, speaking loudly and grimly, every syllable having apparently angered her in a personal way. By the time she was finished, she was breathing heavily and her wand hand was shaking again.

Both Harry and Hedwig looked on worriedly. Looking back at the Twins, Harry saw looks of pure amazement on their faces.

"Ms. Granger..." one of them asked; _Fred_, he guessed. He'd lost track again.

"What in Merlin's name was that?" the other (_George_, he decided through the process of elimination) finished in a whisper.

"And will you show us how to do it?" Fred added eagerly.

"Of course," she said with a tired smile, "just ask me again after lunch when I've recovered. Oh, and that was a set of Auror spells for crime scene analysis. An old set, from the 50s, but still functional. I didn't find anything interesting, obviously. There are even better ones I wouldn't dare try to cast because of their complexity and power requirements, but the ones I just used shouldn't be too hard for the average Magical. I learned them yesterday from an old book Harry had. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to personally run them before the room was cleaned by House Elves yesterday, but I assume the adults used those spells or similar ones."

Twin sets eyes swiveled to look at Harry, who ignored them. Hedwig, still sitting on his shoulder turned and looked at him too. Clearing his throat, he tried to calm down the aggravated girl. "Hermione, you're getting too worked up. I'm sure the Headmaster-"

"Yes, I'm sure the Headmaster is doing his best, but there are lots of things to consider here. The political results of the Boy-Who-Lived getting attacked at Hogwarts. The potential for panic if people knew the details of this case. The fact that Harry hasn't been interviewed by law enforcement personal of any sort, nor does it appear he ever will be. All this leads me to believe that this is being treated as an isolated incident, something like a school prank gone overboard or, at worst, a case of extreme bullying. This was an attempted murder, make no mistake, and the assailant appears to have used powerful magic in making his escape. Either that, or no magic at all."

"If magic, something you and the teachers can't detect?" Harry asked.

"Correct," she said. "There are certainly ways to scrub an area of magic, and undoubtedly magical effects that could be prepared ahead of time that would leave no signature, but the answer is much more likely to be that the actions of Headmaster Dumbledore and Harry obscured whatever signs were left."

"You mean the Phoenix travel in and out?" Harry asked.

"Exactly. One of the other possibilities is that the perpetrator actually hid on or around you or the Headmaster, leaving the room that way."

"So he could have hidden inside the room, using something that didn't leave any magical signature," George said, thinking out loud.

"Like an invisibility or camouflage spell, cast somewhere else or from an enchanted item." Hermione added.

"And then the criminal scum went along for the ride when the Headmaster did his impossible magical bird traveling thing to get Harry to the hospital wing," Fred said, finishing the thought.

"Speaking of impossible magical creatures," George said.

"As there isn't any really polite way to segue into this," Fred continued.

"What's up with that snake?" they both said at once, pointing at Sal, who was still sticking out of her sleeve.

"Ah," Hermione said, licking her lips nervously. "This is Sal. He's a magical snake." She turned her palm up and her Familiar scooted a few more inches out onto her hand, his tongue flicking to taste the air. He then dipped his head in a clear bow to the two redheads. Hermione smiled, as if this was the correct and complete answer to their question.

"So we see," George said slowly, looking quizzically at Sal. Fred coughed loudly.

"What my brother meant-" Fred started.

"What we both wanted to know," George corrected.

"Is..._why_ do you have a huge snake wrapped around your arm?" Fred finished.

"He's my Familiar," she answered shortly, still smiling.

"That's..." Fred muttered.

"Really, really rare," George finished. They both look at her in awe.

"You know," Fred said after a while.

"That's something only powerful adult wizards and witches have," George said.

"I know," Hermione said, not commenting further. Her continuing smile was looking a little less cute and a lot more creepy.

"Ah," Fred said. The Twins cowered in the doorway for a bit.

"So. Sal is short for..." George asked.

"Salazar, like the Hogwarts Founder, one of the most powerful wizards in the history of Western civilization," she answered quickly. The Twins nodded slowly.

"Are you evil?" Fred asked suddenly. For the first time in Harry's memory, one of the Twins looked surprised at what the other had said. George's jaw dropped before he smacked his twin brother over the head. "You can't just ask someone if they're evil!" George said, shaking his head in dismay.

"What my idiot brother _meant_," George said carefully, "is, 'are you a very, very powerful yet forgiving witch, who'll look past some harmless pranks that might happen to accidentally hit you with their splash area, even through they are clearly targeting someone else and are definitely not aimed at you?'" Hermione put her finger to her chin in mock thought.

"I guess," she said slowly. "So long as any magical effects were reversed on me and my friends as quickly as reasonably possible. And their specific magical attributes and techniques explained to my satisfaction."

"Deal," both Twins immediately said, moving to shake on it, each offering a different hand, left and right. Hermione took it in stride and shook both hands at the same time. Now having made it safely inside the bathroom, the Twins started poking around, turning on faucets and kicking random tiles on the floor while she paced back and forth thinking. Harry stayed safely out of the way, petting Hedwig.

"Do you two know of any secret passages into this room?" Hermione asked after watching them for awhile. They shook their heads no. Pacing back and forth for another minute, she finally threw up her hands in frustration.

"This is useless," Hermione whined, stomping her foot. "The adults won't tell us anything. All we can do is guess. But it doesn't really matter who did it, as I'm sure they'll try again. This wasn't a crime of passion or something spur of the moment. So from now on, Harry doesn't go anywhere without an escort. Including, no _especially_ in the bathroom." Turning around and glaring at the Twins, she pointed an accusing finger.

"If you're taking responsibility for Harry," she said fiercely, "you're also in charge of getting his roommates to make sure he doesn't get ambushed in the bathroom again, or anywhere else for that matter. Until I can prepare sufficient passive magical defenses, there must be at least one other person with Harry at all times, day and night." The Twins glanced at each other, then snapped smartly to attention and saluted her.

"Sir, yes sir!" they both echoed.

"Don't worry, Herms," Fred started.

"Don't call me Herms," she growled at him angrily. Grimacing, Fred held up his hands in surrender.

"Ms. Hermione Granger," George tried again, "we will protect Harry with our lives. Or at lest those of the Firsties we con into doing this. Fear not, your young paramour will be safe under our care." Hermione harrumphed at their antics, but nodded.

"Thank you George, Fred," she said primly. "Until they catch whoever did this we must be on alert for any threats."

"Granger, ma'am, we've already got some ideas," Fred said. "We'll keep an eye on ickle Harrikins, don't worry. We've got..._ways_ of keeping track of little Firsties." Realizing that they meant the Marauder's Map, Harry let the last few shreds of hope for any privacy slip from his grasp.

"Good. Glad to hear it," Hermione said, walking over and grabbing his arm. "Come, Harry. Time for lunch." As she half-dragged Harry down the hall, Hedwig hanging onto his shoulder grumpily, she continued. "You left your box of potions at the door to your room. Get those first if you need them. We'll work on security concerns while we eat then recruit help after."

Harry slowly realized that using the Room of Requirement for training or completing his still-nascent plans to slip away from an increasingly protective Hermione to investigate the Chamber of Secrets would have to wait until this all blew over. Of course, the fact that she was right in increasing his security didn't keep him from being annoyed. He'd had enough of that last time from the Order.

He hoped he was wrong about this not being a plot by Voldemort's Possessed Professor, because he now had a plan to safely take out that magically weak but cleverly hidden threat currently lurking in Hogwarts. It would keep both Hermione and the rest of the students out of the line of fire. It would save the unicorns from being killed. It might even save the possessed Professor Quirrell. And all he had to do was survive until Christmas, betray future secrets to his sworn enemy, and lie straight to the face of the greatest wizard alive. That assumed there wasn't some second, unknown enemy trying to join the Kill Harry Club, which would throw his plans straight out the window.

Stumbling to keep up with a very determined Hermione Granger, who had yet to release his arm from her iron grip, Harry muttered under his breath, "Constant vigilance."


End file.
